


The Bet

by IbelieveinMarkNutt



Series: BloodGulch Apartments [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, M/M, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, The reds and blues live in a shitty apartment complex together, Tucker makes a stupid bet, Wash being forced to make friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-08-07 06:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7703800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IbelieveinMarkNutt/pseuds/IbelieveinMarkNutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Three hundred dollars.”</i><br/><i>“Wait, what?”</i><br/><br/>What starts out as a drunken bet with Church spirals out of control faster than Tucker's sanity and dwindling bank account.<br/>It's supposed to be simple, but lines are quickly blurring, and suddenly David Washington doesn't seem so much of a bad guy.<br/>It doesn't help Junior keeps drawing pictures of them all together like some happy family.</p>
<p>  <i>ON HIATUS - BEING RE-WRITTEN</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night out at Roosters.

**01:43AM**  
**Roosters,**  
**Downtown**

“See? I told you,” slurred Tucker over the music, “there ain’t nobody this sexy motherfucker can’t get.” Tucker touched his own chest in emphasis. “Once you get a piece of The Tucker, it’s all you want.”

“All you want, huh?” snided Church, just as drunk.

“Yeah, that’s right, asshole!” Tucker was defensive, jabbing a finger his best friend’s way. “So- so you can wipe that bitch-ass smirk off your face.”

“Sure,” replied Church, “Sorry that I find it hard to take someone who refers to themselves in the third person seriously.”

“You’re just jealous ‘cause that hot girl just gave _me_ her number ‘stead of you.”

“Like give a shit, bitch. I have Tex.” Church down the dregs of his glass, leaning forward across the bar. “Hey! Bartender!”

“What?” scoffed Tucker, swirling his glass so the ice cubes inside clinked together, the sound unheard over the beat of the dance floor. “You mean that personal trainer chick? She isn’t interested. I’m, like, ninety percent sure she’s a lesbian anyway.”

“You say that about any girl that could beat your ass,” pointed out Church, scowling as he was ignored by the bartender in favour of a group of giggly girls, “Especially the ones that don’t want to fuck you, dickward.”

“I can get anyone to fuck me,” answered Tucker.

“Alright then,” Church took out his irritation on Tucker, “if you’re so fucking confident. What about that new fucker that moved in down the hall last month?”

Tucker went silent.

“You know I don’t do the crazies, Church,” he eventually shouted over the music.

“Oh, ho, ho,” laughed Church, falling back down onto his stool. “Three words, Tucker: Kaikaina-fucking-Grif,” he stressed.

“Don’t bring Junior into this! And- and that was completely different, dude. You’ve seen her! She’s hot crazy. Riding-your-dick-whilst-eating-a-hot-dog crazy.”

Church rolled his eyes. “I did not need to know that.”

“The guy’s just sad.”

“I thought there was no one ‘The Tucker’ couldn’t get?”

“Had you maybe thought The Tucker doesn’t want him?”

 “Three hundred dollars,” Church announced, turning towards Tucker more directly.

“What?”

“That’s how confident I am that you can’t do it,” continued Church, “Let’s make this a bet.” Church raised his index finger. “One month. If you can convince him to fuck you by the end of the month, I’ll give you the money, if you’re not, then you gotta pay up instead.”

Tucker shook his head in drunken disbelief. “…You’re real fucked up, dude.”

“Come on, Tucker, it’ll be fun,” said Church, which got a sarcastic eyebrow raise out of the other. “Look, asshole, you want the money or not?” he paused and leaned in to goad, “Or are you just gonna have to admit you aren’t the big fucking hotshot you think you are?”

The two friends scrutinised one another intensely before Church broke out into a laugh and Tucker joined him.

Tucker rubbed a hand over his face. “Ah, Jesus fuck, _fine_.” He offered a cocky grin.  “But just so you know, Church, you’ve just lost three hundred dollars.”

They shook hands.


	2. 07/14/20xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker introduces himself to David Washington.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [rvlakia](http://rvlakia.tumblr.com/)

Lavernius Tucker needed to stop drinking with Leonard ‘one more shot’ Church; it brought him nothing but trouble and a skull-splitting hangover. It was a Saturday, and squinting briefly at Junior’s digital alarm clock, 5:50am.

Tucker should be pissed that the need to simultaneously pee and drink a gallon of water had woken him from his slumber but he couldn’t find it in him. He had become well-acquainted with early mornings after Junior was born, and it was his own fault for poisoning himself on a fortnightly basis.

He opened his eyes and was greeted with the familiarity of his son’s bedroom ceiling, the sunlight hiding the UV paint they had splattered across it the previous month, creating a makeshift sky for Junior to look at as an attempt to get him to sleep alone in his bedroom. So far, the plan wasn’t working as well as Tucker had been hoping.

Tucker groaned and tried to re-shift, the backs of his knees aching painfully from where the end of Junior’s bed dug into his skin, his shoulders pressed up awkwardly against the headboard. Fuck, it was like Junior’s bed was shrinking every night they spent in it.

After a few more attempts Tucker managed to sit up, cradling Junior carefully to his chest ao as not to wake him, the child breathing peacefully, his eyelashes fluttering in his sleep. Tucker spent a few minutes manoeuvring Junior back under the covers, standing up once successful. He swallowed drily and padded into his bathroom to take a well-needed piss.

Tucker wasted no time in pulling himself from his boxers, leaving the bathroom door open.

He groaned in relief, pulling his phone out from his pocket to look through his social media, letting himself become reacquainted with what exactly had happened the night before, laughing aloud and favouriting photos as he went through his Twitter feed. He remembered Donut being kicked out for dancing on the bar, Grif throwing up over Simmons’ new trainers and… oh no. Please, no. He didn’t make another bet with Church, did he?

His thumb hit contacts, scrolling down and tapping Church’s number, cock still in hand. When it went to voicemail, Tucker tried again. And again after that. And again after that.

“This better be fucking important or I’m coming over to strangle you with your intestines.”

He smirked at Church’s growl, the smile dissipating as he remembered the task at hand.

“Did we make a bet last night?” asked Tucker.

Silence.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Tucker? You woke me up at five in the fucking morning to ask if we made a bet.”

“Actually, it’s more like six,” Tucker corrected.

“Well it doesn’t really fucking matter to me, Tucker!” replied Church, “Either way I’m hungover and pissed off!”

“We did. It was about me fucking cat-guy down the hall, wasn’t it? I don’t wanna fuck cat-guy, Church.”

“That’s it, I’m coming over.” Church hung up.

“Wait, Church, no- Junior’s in bed and I don’t- oh, you motherfucker,” Tucker declared. He put his phone back in his pocket and his dick back in his boxers, no sooner exiting the bathroom than there was a banging at his door.

Tucker tied up his dreadlocks so they were out of his face, opening the door to peer out at his best friend, chain still locked. “Baby, if you’re gonna fist my door, at least do it gently.”

Church looked furious, which was not anything new, although this time the rage was pretty reasonable. He did not look his best, eyes bloodshot and red, drool stuck to his beard, hair an unidentifiable black mess. He had thrown on a dressing gown, the fabric open to reveal sweaty chest hair and unflattering briefs.

"Dude, seriously, let me inside before I unload in your face," Church scowled.

"Bow-chicka-bow-wow."

"Tucker!"

“Oh come on, that was way too easy,” Tucker argued with a laugh, although he did as Church requested and shut the door so he could undo the latch, letting him inside.

“Make me some fucking coffee, asshole.” Church flopped down on Tucker’s couch, making a noise of pain when he landed on Junior’s plastic dinosaur collection. He sat up, beginning to throw the toys at the carpet. “Stupid kid!”

“Keep your fucking voice down, Junior didn’t sleep last night until I came in,” Tucker said, picking up the violently discarded dinosaurs and setting them on the coffee table instead.

“You baby that brat way too much.” Church fell back again once the cushions were free of Junior’s toys. “Maybe he’d actually sleep alone in his own bed for once if you said ‘no’ every once in a while. Maybe then he’d say something other than ‘Daddy’ or ‘Dinosaur’. He acts like a fucking two year old- he’s five.”

“Shut it,” Tucker snapped, “it’s got nothing to do with you, Church. If I wanted this bullshit I would have called my mother.”

He stalked through to his kitchen and drank a couple of glasses of water as he waited for his coffee machine to wake up, deliberately giving Church his broken mug when he came back through and kicking his feet out the way so Tucker could sit.

Church moved his feet back into Tucker’s lap, taking a long drink from the frothy black liquid he’d been given, setting it down on the floor since the table was just out of reach. “A bet’s a bet if you’re thinking about trying to pussy out.”

"Of course I'm not pussying out!" said Tucker. "Just wondering if we could reconsider the target..."

"No, it has to be cat-guy, otherwise pay up."

Tucker looked up at the ceiling, closing his eyes and letting out a long, drawn out sigh.

"Alright, alright, crazy cat guy it is." He sounded defeated. "Fuck, how am I even supposed to do this?"

"With your 'mad seduction skills'," Church imitated Tucker cruelly, waving his hands about dramatically.

Tucker groaned.

"Some friendly advice, Tuck," Church spoke over him. "I'd start sooner rather than later. He doesn't exactly seem like the type to bang on a first date."

Church was right; he needed to start early otherwise it was gonna take way too long to get into his pants.

“How do I even start up a conversation? I only ever see him like a morning a month for like five seconds,” Tucker thought aloud.

“You’ll figure something out.” Church draped an arm over his face to shield his eyes. “Otherwise I’m gonna be buying myself a new microwave. Caboose put in some popcorn the other night and set it for thirty minutes instead of seconds, the fucking idiot. He’s lucky it didn’t burn down my entire kitchen.”

Tucker snorted.

“Yeah, ha-ha-fucking-ha, it’s hilarious when you’re not the one having to live without a microwave.”

“Looks like you’re going to have to get off your fat ass and actually make yourself food now, huh?”

“Nah, just thought I could use yours instead.”

“Get fucked, I’m not having you stink out the place with your shitty TV dinners.”

“You have any better ideas, jackass?”

“Yeah,” Tucker snapped back. “Make actual food.”

Church grunted in response, sitting up a little so he could take another drink from his coffee.

They drifted into silence, Church sipping his cup of bitterness every so often as Tucker strained to keep his eyes open.

“I’m going for a shower,” Tucker announced, standing up, “And after that I’m gonna go introduce myself to crazy-cat-guy and invite him out for coffee, and turn on the Tucker charm. Watch Junior while I’m gone.”

Church sat up straighter. “You’re joking; I’m going back to bed.”

“Get Caboose to do it then,” Tucker called back, already halfway into the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself.

He really needed to get out of these clothes, the scent of hard liquor and sweat was clinging to the fabric. Tucker caught sight of himself in the mirror, flashing himself a grin and a wink.

He had this.

-

He did not have this.

Tucker fidgeted in the draughty hallway of Blood Gulch Apartment Complex, going through the mental checklist of what three hundred dollars could buy for Junior. He loitered in front of the apartments’ mailboxes like the idiot he was, waiting impatiently.

There were so many scenarios flying through his mind; what if the guy turned out to be a raging homophobe? Okay, maybe not the raging part, he seemed much too mellow for that kind of violent outburst in public. If anything, cat-guy fell into the serial killer category: solitary, kept to himself and out of sight.

Great, Tucker was gonna be killed. Why couldn’t Church bet him to sleep with some smoking hot, blonde chick with double-Ds and full top shelf? Cat-guy was gonna either slit Tucker’s throat or bore him to death with his extensive stamp collection, he could feel it.

It was now eight thirty, one of the few times the crazy-cat-guy ever emerged from his apartment down the hall, checking his mail in routine before he disappeared again. Tucker only knew this because he had caught occasional glimpses of the man as he took Junior to kindergarten during the week.

He considered returning upstairs, telling Church that he’d changed his mind, but then again, three hundred dollars was three hundred dollars, and Tucker refused to let his friend waste his hard-earned money on a new microwave. Three hundred dollars was half his bills, it was a birthday present for Junior, a day out at the zoo, savings for a rainy day…

Who was he kidding? Tucker knew himself better than that, he wasn’t the type to put money, especially money from a drunken bet, to good use. It would get wasted on a night out or a new video game.

“Son, your lollygagging is starting to put this old man on edge.” A gruff voice came from the open shutter of the reception window, breaking Tucker’s thoughts.

A broad, greying man took a drag from his cigarette and blew smoke through his nostrils, gaze penetrating.

The man was Tucker’s landlord, Sarge, his real name a mystery to all the occupants of his building. Sarge took cash in hand and was ruthless with evictions, his roommate - and one of Tucker's closest friends - Franklin, the only person in the building to have seemingly never been subjected to his wrath.

“I’m not lollygagging, but I can tell you what she’ll be gagging on tonight, bow-chicka-bow-wow,” Tucker blurted back. Social etiquette was not his strong point.

“…That didn’t ease my concerns.” Sarge looked unimpressed, tapping ash into the ashtray on his desk.

“Look, man, I don’t get why you give a shit, not like I’m doing anything-”

“You think I’m gonna trust someone like you alone in my hallway?” interrupted Sarge. “I know your type.”

“Look… it’s important, dude. Trust me. It’s like, life or death shit, way over your head,” argued Tucker.

“Life or death?! Son, I was head of my unit in the war! You don’t know life or death until you’re in the trenches, drenched in the blood of your enemies.”

Tucker held back a sigh. “I really don’t have time for this right now.”

“Nonsense, there’s always time for a war story!”

“Leave me alone or I’ll tell Donut you’re smoking again.”

Sarge made a flustered noise. “How dare you-”

A phone rang inside the office and Tucker breathed an internal sigh of relief.

Sarge’s eyes narrowed, crushing out his cigarette. “Got my eye on you, boy.”

He slid the grate shut, Tucker more of an irritation than anything, although his sass only made him dislike the boy more. Then again, what did he expect from someone of his kind, his colour? He was a blue after all.

Tucker heard rattling and turned gormlessly, realising the man he’d been waiting on all morning (ten minutes) was there and in the process of unlocking his mail box.

He had his back to Tucker, messy hair in need of a re-dye, greying roots visible through the knots of blonde. Did he ever change out of that grey hoodie? He seemed like the kind of guy to have a wardrobe full of the same thing, white cat furs clinging to the fabric of the worn cotton. The only thing that had ever vaguely captured Tucker’s attention in the past had been the ragged scar over his jaw and the splattering of freckles that covered his face and disappeared at the end of his neck.

At a glance he appeared like he’d had a rough night but Tucker was aware at this point that that was just the dude’s natural expression.

He wasn’t his type; Tucker liked exciting and wild, and this guy? This guy was dull, the kind that wore tighty whities and looked both ways before crossing the street, Tucker could just tell.

Tucker almost walked away before remembering the three hundred dollars that was on the table.

“Hey there, gorgeous, don’t think I’ve had a chance to introduce myself yet. I’m Lavernius Tucker, I live down the hall,” began Tucker after he’d finished his internal pep talk, offering a charming smile, pretending his neighbour was a hot chick he was chatting up at a bar.

The man appeared to do a quick double take, it taking him a moment to register he was being spoken to. His tired eyes looked Tucker up and down, irises grey.

Tucker continued when he got no response. “And you are?”

“…David,” he responded, uncomfortable.

 _David_ , Tucker thought. _Even his name is boring_. He sure was going to have to drag himself down for this one. He cleared his throat and continued his forced smile. “Nice to meet you, David.”

“Uh-huh.” David went back to trying to get to his mail.

Tucker shoved his hands in his pockets, bright eyes looking at the name stuck to the front of David’s mailbox. “Washington, huh? Never seen anyone named after a state before - you know, other than George - but I kinda just assumed he was the one who named the state after himself, narcissistic piece of shit,” he laughed awkwardly. “You’re not related to him, right? Dude, you must be loaded as fuck, why you living in this shit hole? I’d be in the Mediterranean fucking babes, y’know?”

“…Uh-huh.”

“You mind if I call you Wash?”

Washington froze.

“That seems a lot easier to say; Washington’s a mouthful. Ha, a mouthful, I’d like a mouthful of you, if you know what I mean, bow-chicka-bow-wow.”

Wash didn’t respond, and when it became clear he wasn’t expanding, the silence turned heavy and awkward.

Tucker winced. “So… yeah.”

The silence was interrupted every so often by the scrape of rust against steel as David tried to jiggle his key inside the lock, the mailbox remaining shut in stubbornness like every other aging piece of crap in the apartment complex. Tucker wasn’t sure how long exactly the apartment had been around but he was pretty sure it was older than Sarge was.

“The locks are a bitch, huh?” Tucker made an attempt at continuing. “So, me and my buddies saw you moved in a couple of weeks ago and-“

“Four months,” Washington interrupted curtly.

“What?” Tucker had been derailed from his script again.

“I’ve lived here-” Wash opened his mail box, grabbing bills and relocking it, pulling his key from the mailbox with a sharp tug, “four months. Excuse me.” Wash made a beeline for the stairs.

“Wait, wait, wait- Wash! You haven’t even heard what I have to offer, dude-” Tucker quickly jogged after Washington, hand catching his bicep, eyes widening slightly at the firmness there.

“Leave me alone.” Wash’s tone was venomous in his panic, his aggression out of nowhere, trying to jerk his arm away, shooting a glare over his shoulder.

Tucker dropped his arm. He wasn’t sure what to say, opening and closing his mouth, unable to even find a smartass comment to save the situation.

Wash used Tucker’s speechlessness to his advantage, taking the stairs two at a time, disappearing around the corner. Tucker stared after him.

“What an asshole,” Tucker muttered. His Plan A had failed in a miserable fashion, the man having no Plan B to back it up. This was going to be a whole lot harder than he originally thought.

Upstairs, David Washington fumbled with his keys as he tried to unlock his front door, mouth dry, anxiety from the confrontation expanding in his chest. He failed to slot the key into his door, shaking hand dropping it with a curse, the abundance of novelty keyrings causing a clatter against the fraying carpet.

Wash stared down at the jumble of metal cats and faded pictures clasped in plastic, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths to clear his mind. He bent down to pick up the keys once he was calm, opening his front door and letting himself inside, locking it behind him and sliding on his dead bolt as if Tucker was some kind of threat to him. He set his mail down on his side table.

He let out a strained laugh; an ex-Special Ops being intimidated by some stupid kid, it was pathetically hilarious. Wash leant back against his door and slid down onto his ass, putting his head in his hands.

" _Mew_."

Even with his eyes closed Wash knew who was bothering him. “What is it, Sky?”

Skyler meowed again, rubbing her head up against his legs, followed by her body, purr rumbling in her chest, the sound soothing to Wash’s ears. The man straightened up so he could run his fingers through her fur, reopening his eyes.

“I just fed you, I don’t know what you’re complaining about.” He spoke with a soft fondness, breaking out into a small smile as she rested her front paws on his knees, peering over the tops of them to look at Wash.

After a few more pets, Washington was able to breathe again, lowering his knees so the animal could climb into his lap. “That guy was pretty weird, huh?” he said. “I think he was trying to make fun of me.”

Wash’s fingers stilled, beginning to pull gently at a matted piece of fur.

“I wonder where his kid was.”

Skyler meowed.

Wash got up once he’d managed to wrestle out the matt, turning on his treadmill and spending the rest of his morning working out. The habit was from his army days, always feeling more himself when he could sense that familiar burn of over-exertion in his chest.

Tucker, on the other hand, was at a loss, deciding he might as well go down to the supermarket whilst he had someone watching Junior, going home when he was finished.

He opened the front door.

“Daddy!” A little face peered over the top of the sofa, milk running from the corners of his grin, getting down and running towards his father.

“Hey, little man!” Tucker dropped his shopping bags and lifted the child up. “Sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up.” He looked over and saw Caboose sat on his couch. “You and Caboose have fun?”

Junior nodded, little fingers grabbing a handful of Tucker’s dreads, pressing his face against his neck and smearing the milk from his Lucky Charms over Tucker’s skin. Tucker didn’t mind, cuddling the boy back warmly.

“Morning cartoons are the best.” Caboose made his presence known, slurping what was remaining of his own bowl of cereal before he stood up. “I am going now to walk Sheila and see my best friend, Church. Sheila has an appointment with the animal doctor today. Doctor Doc is going to look inside her again. Goodbye, Junior. Goodbye, Tucker.”

“Alright. Thanks, dude.” Tucker smiled and got the door for him, having not expected Church to actually ask Caboose over in his place. He appreciated the man was always happy to watch Junior last minute, even if Tucker only trusted Junior alone with him for short bursts. Junior waved his own goodbye.

Caboose smiled in return, friendly. “It’s okay, Tucker, thank you for the donuts.”

Tucker’s smile dropped. “You ate my donuts?”

“Goodbye, Tucker,” Caboose repeated, not looking back, walking across the hall to his apartment.

Tucker shut the door in mild irritation, sighing in and out. He raised an eyebrow at his son as he carried him back into the living room.

“You didn’t happen to eat any donuts, did you?” he questioned.

Junior stared owlishly before shaking his head from side to side dramatically. That was a yes then.

Tucker smirked. “We are gonna have to start working on your lying skills, little dude.”


	3. 07/15/20xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ari goes missing and Wash makes a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [rvlakia](http://rvlakia.tumblr.com/)

“Ari?” called Wash, laid on his chest on the floor, looking under his bed for the tenth time that morning.

This wasn’t good, it wasn’t good at all. Ari was missing and he couldn’t find her. Epsilon stared at him from across the room, curled up in Washington’s sock draw, unimpressed as usual.

She must have gotten through an open window, there was no other explanation. Wash had checked all of her usual hiding places: the washing basket, behind the couch, the cupboard next to the fridge. She was not in the apartment, the last hour and a half had proved as much.

He was not panicking, he was being calm and rational, and there was no way she could have gone far. She was a house cat, they stayed close.

Oh God, she was a house cat. House cats didn’t have road sense, the apartment block was directly outside a main road. Ari was going to get herself killed and it was all going to be Wash’s fault. His brain offered several delightful scenarios of her body mangled up beyond repair in his arms, each thought growing more horrific than the last.

What if some psycho had gotten hold of her? He’d seen what people could do to each other, the thought of violence being inflicted on his pet making his stomach churn.

He was overreacting.

Wash pulled himself up off the floor and brushed down the front of his t-shirt, which did absolutely nothing to remove the cat hairs. It was time to take his search outside. He shut all of the windows around his home just in case Skyler or Epsilon decided today was the day they would also perform _The Great Escape_ and left to go down to the lobby. He stopped by the door and pulled on a hoodie, stuffing Ari’s favourite cat treats into his pockets.

Both Sky and Ari loved the tiny little biscuits shaped like fishes, although Epsilon was not a fan, more inclined to wet treats like tuna and chicken.

Wash decided he would look around the halls of the complex first. He checked the all three floors, finding nothing but grime under his feet and tackily coloured walls. He’d never been to the top floor before, his landlord’s floor, finding the blood red of the paintwork unnerving, much preferring the relaxed blue of his own. The arguing he could hear through the doors of one of the apartments put the veteran especially on edge; these days he did everything in his power to avoid conflict.

Wash descended the stairs all the way back down to the reception, past the mailboxes and through the back doors, going outside into the community garden around the back. His eyes widened, honestly surprised at how nice it was in comparison to the building and the area. He remembered Sarge having told him about a garden when he had first moved in, but had had no reason to go and see it.

Ari liked to hide herself in secluded, darkened spaces to nap, so at least Wash had a starting point, looking around the area for such.

“Ari,” he called as he walked along the gravelled path, looking under a section of raised bedding. A dejected sigh left his mouth when he was met with nothing.

It was too hot, the sun beating down hard and causing Washington to sweat in the constricting cotton of his jacket.

“Ari, baby.” Wash tried again, a little louder, walking past the bedding to where there was a man busy digging into the earth with a shovel. He grunted loudly, the sounds border-lining sexual as he piled up debris. It made Wash uncomfortable, eyes looking anywhere but the tanned skin of his naked back.

Wash swallowed. “Um, excuse me?”

He kept digging.

“Excuse me?” Wash spoke up.

The stranger stopped and turned to look at Washington, breaking out into a bright, inviting smile. His body was slender but solid, the muscles in his arms and stomach defined in a way that indicated hard work rather than nights spent body building. Wash recognised his face immediately as Franklin Donut from the room above his own. Wash only knew him because he was the cashier that worked the night shifts at the nearby convince store.

“Hey there, neighbour! Nice to see you outside your apartment for once. Sarge was starting to think you were in there plotting world domination, but I told him that you were way too nice to be doing something like that.” Donut wiped sweat from his brow.

“Yeah. Hey, have you seen-”

“I’m hoping these babies grow, I’ve been plugging holes all morning, and let me tell you, it is _exhausting_ , but totally worth it when I get to taste the fresh lemonade I'm gonna make with them at the end of the summer." Donut was grinning still, "Do you like lemonade? I mean, you buy a lot of Sprite at the store, so I'm assuming so. They're pretty much the same thing."

Was everyone in this damn apartment block a weirdo who never stopped talking?

"Lemonade is okay," Wash replied when he was given a chance to get a word in, "So, um, Franklin-”

“Call me Donut!”

What was it with these people and last names? They didn’t seem military.

“…Right, Donut,” Wash said. “Have you seen a cat around here? She's a small, domestic semi-long haired tabby, with a little white patch under her chin." He pointed to the underside of his jaw.

Donut paused, tilting his head as he took in Wash's question. Realisation dawned on his concentrating expression. "A cat? Oh no, is your cat missing? Which one?"

"Ari," Wash said, hand coming up to rake through his hair. "I think she got through my kitchen window where the fire escape is. She's never been outside before. She’s not vaccinated either."

"That's awful!" Donut had such emotion to his tone that, for a brief moment, Wash thought he was being sarcastic. "I'll help you find her, my lemon trees can wait."

"I, uh," Wash would usually reject help, but the quicker Ari was found the better, “thank you.”

Donut pulled on his discarded shirt, bleached hair damp with sweat, the man wiping dirt onto his jeans. "You have a picture of her you could send me? I could post that she's missing to our Facebook group and see if anyone's got her."

"...A Facebook group?"

"Yeah. The apartment's Facebook group." When Wash's face remained blank, Donut gasped. "You haven't been added to the chat?! No wonder you haven't been coming to any events! I thought you just hated us," he laughed brightly.

Wash looked lost as Donut bent down to rummage through a handbag that Wash swore hadn't been there before. He straightened up, taking gulps of overpriced mineral water with one hand and tapping his pin into his phone with the other.

"It's David Washington, right? Gosh, I feel so awful for not adding you before," gushed Donut, taking another drink from his bottle.

"How do you know my-"

"Your name? Perks of sleeping with the landlord." Donut gave a wink.

Wash swallowed. He was unable to decipher whether or not he was joking, too anxious to laugh.

"I can't seem to find you, hun. Maybe I'm spelling something wrong? Here you type it." Donut tried to pass his phone to him.

"I don't have Facebook and I don't have time for this." Wash lowered the phone gently, "I need to find Ari."

"This will help find her, I promise!" Donut reassured. "Think of it like putting up a lost poster. Just give me her picture and I'll do the rest."

Wash hesitated, supposing he should take any opportunity offered to aid his search. "Alright, okay."

Washington pulled his phone out his back pocket, flipping it open and navigating to his pictures awkwardly, clicking through the different images of his cats until he found a single shot of Ari. He offered the phone out to Donut.

"I don't really know how to send it to you," Wash admitted. "I know it’s a pretty old phone."

"Sarge's mobile is older than this, and if I can figure out that hunk of junk I'm sure this little cutie'll be a piece of cake." Donut was optimistic, thinking the flip phone was adorable, confident Wash's cat would be found safe and sound.

Wash nodded, eyes scouring over the garden again. "I'm gonna go look in the street; I'll come back to get my phone when I'm done."

"Okay-dokay, Washington."

Wash frowned and his eyebrows came together, turning to go back through the apartment and out onto Main Street. Why last names? He couldn't decide if he was comforted or upset by it, the practice giving him flashbacks to his old team.

It was a horrible thought, but he missed Maine the most.

No. He didn’t have time for reminiscing, he needed to find Ari.

Wash didn't dare call his cat's name once he was out on Main Street, he wasn't stupid, he knew what kind of neighbourhood this was. Calling ‘Ari’ up and down the streets would just attract the wrong kind of attention. Instead, he silently sulked up and down the broken pavement.

He tried his best not to look suspicious as he checked under cars, inside dumpsters and at the end of alleys, worry churning stronger with every minute that passed.

He had run out of options, deciding he would check in-between buildings a couple more times before returning to the garden to see if Franklin had found anything.

-

Junior wished he could have a pet dinosaur. He looked down at the black outline of a pterodactyl, trying to decide whether the beast would look better in blue or green. A pet pterodactyl sounded fun, or maybe a tyrannosaurus rex or a velociraptor, something carnivorous and scary either way.

Junior wouldn’t be scared though, of course, they would be his friend, eating all the mean people at his school. Junior hoped they would eat his teacher first, she was the meanest.

After more deliberation, he decided on the colour blue, Daddy’s favourite colour, beginning to carefully scribble in the pterodactyl’s face. Donut had bought him the colouring book for his birthday (he was five now, a big boy) and the pages were filled with different dinosaurs. Junior liked it when Daddy flipped through the book with him, telling Junior their names and what they ate. Junior knew all of this already but he enjoyed the sound of Daddy’s voice, and the feeling of sitting against his chest, so he never complained.

A noise came from his bedroom window and the child looked up, gasping aloud at the sight.

He stared, and green eyes stared right on back at him.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” Junior shrieked from his bed, jumping up onto his feet and spilling crayons onto the floor. He took in a deep breath, about to begin his screaming again-

Tucker appeared in the hallway, panting, eyes frantic, and his arms covered in suds from the sink. He looked around his son’s bedroom, unable to identify what had caused such a response.

“What is it, Junior?” Tucker’s heart was thudding hard in his chest, the screaming having scared him shitless.

It was only then that Tucker realised Junior wasn’t in danger, and in fact, was grinning, pointing frantically to the window. Tucker’s eyes shifted.

It was a fucking cat. A god damn fucking cat, meowing and pawing at the glass.

Junior climbed down from his bed and walked over, pulling at the window’s latch to try and let the animal into the apartment.

“Junior, no. No.” Tucker wiped his hands on his jeans and strode over, putting the latch back into place. “It probably has fleas, or worms, or rabies, or some other nasty shit we don’t know about.”

Junior stared up at him with those big, baby blue eyes.

“It’ll be fine,” Tucker reassured. “Cats like living outside.”

The cat meowed again and rubbed its face up against the window, beginning to purr, the sound audible through the double glazing.

“Daddy,” Junior said, grabbing a handful of the front of Tucker’s shirt and tugging lightly, continuing his pleading routine.

“Junior,” Tucker replied, monotone.

“ _Daddy.”_

Tucker sighed and looked back to the purring feline.

He guessed it looked friendly enough, too clean to be a street cat in all honesty. He wondered how it had managed to get onto the fire escape - maybe it belonged to Wash. Ha, as if, Tucker was just grasping at straws trying to find a way to talk to the man again.

Things weren’t going well at work with all the shifts he was losing, and Tucker was starting to have to sell off his belongings to keep both him and Junior fed and under a roof. Three hundred dollars would really help them out right about now. He needed to stop going out.

“Daddy.”

“Alright, fine!” Tucker undid the latch and pushed up the window to let the cat in. “But only for today, your hear me, little dude? It’s not staying.”

Junior made a noise of excitement, barely able to contain himself as the cat jumped down onto his carpet, rubbing itself up against his legs. Junior grabbed at its fur with his hands, gentle, flashing a bright smile up at his dad.

“You’re lucky you’re a cute kid,” Tucker told him, ruffling up his heavy coils. “Go grab your colouring book and come sit in the kitchen.”

Tucker didn’t want to leave Junior alone with the unknown creature, despite how harmless it seemed. The last thing he wanted was for Junior to get hurt.

It was hard to believe how calm Junior had turned out considering his parentage, between Kai and himself; he had expected a rough ride in bringing him up, one filled with tantrums and broken toys, which couldn’t be further from his son’s temperament. Maybe things would get a little more difficult in his teenage years, but for now, Tucker’s only real concerns were Junior’s selective muteness and his separation anxiety.

If you had asked Tucker where he thought he would be six years ago, he would not have replied still living in his shitty, two-bedroom starter apartment with a five-year-old kid. He had moved in with Church when he was sixteen, dropping out of high school and throwing away any career prospects with it, forever stuck in dead end jobs.

It had been stupid but Tucker couldn’t have lived with his parents any longer, and there was no way in fucking hell he regretted it - without moving here he would have never met Kai, and they would have never have had Junior.

Kai. He wondered where she was at the moment, still a little pissed with the woman for not coming to Junior’s birthday party in favour of a weekend-long boat party in Ibiza, but he couldn’t blame her really. She had been clear from the beginning she didn’t want a child in her life. Tucker had been the one who begged her not to abort him; that the baby would be Tucker’s responsibility.

Tucker got Junior settled at the kitchen table before he returned to washing up. He was getting better at keeping things clean, but that didn’t mean the pile of dirty plates didn’t span back three days at least.

“You wanna go to the park later?” Tucker asked, glancing back to see Junior was on the floor with the cat again, not listening.

Tucker sighed and left his son to it, hands going back into the water. He scrubbed at dried food and let his mind wander, liking to imagine himself at some wild party, someplace hot and loud. There would be margaritas, and skull-splitting music, and he’d be chatting up some beautiful Mexican with washboard abs.

Although he would never admit to it, fantasising is what got Tucker through the day half the time.

Junior’s mind was completely on the present, smiling as he scratched behind its ears like his Uncle Grif had taught him on his old cat, Fatso. The cat flopped onto its side.

Junior liked animals, not as much as dinosaurs, but they were cool, and he had become fast friends with this feline. He tried to think of a name for him, crossed legs as he stroked its belly. He thought about wild cats, like lions and tigers; maybe he could name him after one of those? A _sabre_ -toothed tiger. Sabre was a good name.

“Daddy.” Junior spoke up as his dad emptied the sink of dirty water. “Do you like Sabre?”

Tucker’s breath stopped in his throat, dragged back to reality in an instant, having to do a quick double take to check he wasn’t hearing things. Did Junior just talk? That had to have been real.

Tucker looked back and saw Junior staring up at him, still waiting for a response, confirming he had been the one to just speak.

“Saber?” managed Tucker, mouth dry as he forced a poker face. “…Like a lightsaber?”

Junior giggled and shook his head, responding confidently. “No, Daddy, like a tiger.”

“A tiger?” Tucker repeated, smiling wryly at his son’s laughter, crouching down to Junior’s level. “I don’t understand, little man.”

Junior pointed to the cat. “Sabre.”

_Oh._

“You’re naming it?”

Junior nodded in confirmation, eyes going back to the purring mass.

Tucker tried to get his son to expand again. “Why that name?”

Junior shrugged, keeping his eyes cast down. No response.

“…I like it, its super cool.” Tucker pushed through frustration and continued, “Just like you.”

Junior looked up and smiled.

Tucker smiled back, hand smoothing back Junior’s untameable hair again. “If you’re all done colouring, we could go watch a film if you wanna.”

Junior grinned wide and jumped up; he knew just the film, running through into the living room to pick _Jurassic Park_ up off the shelf.

 _Again?_ Tucker forced his smile to stay fixed, following after Junior.

Tucker tried in vain to keep the cat - ‘Sabre’- off the sofa, but he lost the battle, ending up with the fucking thing sprawled across his ankles like it belonged there. Junior lay in his usual position on his chest, animated face watching the screen as if they hadn’t seen Alan Grant save Hammond’s grandchildren at least fifty times at this point.

Tucker unlocked his phone in boredom, smiling at the picture of Junior that greeted him, opening up Facebook on a whim when he saw he had no messages. There had been a post on their apartment group, Tucker opening it.

* * *

 

** **

* * *

Tucker opened the link and compared it to the cat on his feet, the animal a spitting image. Huh, looked like it was Washington’s cat after all. Maybe this could work out in his favour.

He opened his messages and scrolled down to Donut’s name with his thumb.

* * *

 

** **

* * *

 

Tucker huffed a laugh. He patted Junior’s back, reaching for the remote and turning down the volume.

Junior made a noise of complaint.

“Donut’s coming over,” explained Tucker. “Sabre belongs to a guy down our hall so we’re gonna have to give it back.”

Excitement turned to sadness over Junior’s face but he nodded, getting up off his father so he could sit up.

“Sorry, little dude,” Tucker apologised. “Maybe he will let us visit Sabre if you ask him.”

Junior nodded insistently at the idea, going back over to Ari so that he could stroke her. Tucker pretended like he hadn’t suggested the idea just so he would have an excuse to go around to Wash’s apartment.

-

“I found her!” Donut yelled across the garden at Wash when he made his reappearance, bouncing down the path and waving around his phone like the fabulous manic he was. He grinned up at him as he came to a stop. “Well, _technically_ Tucker found her, but he wouldn’t have known who the cat belonged to if I hadn’t made the post.”

Wash disregarded all information other than ‘found her’, grabbing Donut’s shoulders on impulse. “Where is she?”

Something unreadable flashed in Donut's eyes at the rough contact, Washington unable to process what exactly it was, other than it being negative. He released his steel grip.

"Sorry-" began Wash.

"Come on, we should go and get her." Donut smoothed over whatever had just happened, "Have you met Tucker before? If you have he's probably made a bad impression, he's a little bit of a tool, but you gotta love him."

Donut was walking inside, Wash's only option to follow him, listening.

"He's not that bad really, he just doesn't think before he opens up. It all just comes spurting out, you know what I mean?" He glanced back at Wash.

Wash offered an unsure nod and a half smile, his decision over whether Donut was aware of his own inappropriateness inconclusive.

“And I know what you’re thinking: ‘Donut, how do you know that?’”

Wash had not been thinking that. They started up the stairs.

“And I’ll tell you, Wash; me and Tucker go _way_ back. Middle school back.” Donut shivered, going off on another unrelated tangent. “Dark times, Wash, dark times. Those pictures are staying buried until the day I die. You know what I’d say if I could call myself at fourteen?” Donut didn’t wait for an answer. “I’d say, ‘Franklin, I know you wanna look good, honey, and you do, but there is such a thing as too much fake tan. And God, too much hairspray.’ Hey, do you remember stirrup leggings? They were like my entire wardrobe. I used to bedazzle them to make sure I’d be unique. Man, now I just wanna bedazzle something!” He laughed. “Maybe I could do the curtains…”

They were at Tucker’s door, Donut already knocking, finished with his derailed train of thought.

A few moments of silence passed, Donut knocking again in impatience. “Tucker! You there? Let us inside!”

“Both at once?” Laughter came from behind the door as Tucker turned the key in the lock, followed by a muffed sound of a ‘bow-chicka-bow-wow’ before he turned the handle and opened the door.

David grimaced. There he was, Lavernius Tucker, the same stupid cocky grin on his stupid face from the previous morning, looking directly at Wash. And here came the stupid words. "Hey, baby, long time no see."

Wash’s frown deepened and he could feel his cheeks burning, the sensation only worsened by the way Tucker's eyebrow raised and his smile grew bigger. He remained silent and looked away.

Donut was confused, but could feel the tenseness, it making him uncomfortable. He looked between them, leaning up to wrap his arms around Tucker’s shoulders to try and break the ice. "Oh, you big flirt, don't you know I'm taken now, we can't be fooling around like we used to."

Tucker laughed and returned the hug warmly, replying, “I wasn’t talking to you- I was talking to Mr Tall-and-Handsome over here.” He kept his eyes on Wash over Donut’s shoulder, “Gee, dude, you reek, ever heard of something called a shower?”

“You like the way I stink.” Donut pulled away and tapped Tucker’s nose.

Wash felt a flurry of impatience, finding his voice. “Is Ari there?”

“Junior has her, right, Tuck?” Donut moved into the apartment and gestured for Wash to follow, brushing past Tucker.

“Yeah,” Tucker said, staying in the doorway deliberately so that the other would have to brush past him too, getting a kick out of Washington’s irritation. “He named her Sabre. We thought she was a stray.”

Wash looked around the apartment. A polite way of describing the place would be that it was well-lived in, but in Wash's opinion it was cluttered and untidy. The floor looked like it was in need of a good vacuum, toys scattered here and there, washing hung over radiators and the back of chairs, dust lining every available surface. There was another thing to add to Wash's list of Lavernius-related annoyances: he was lazy and messy.

The television was on, playing what appeared to be Jurassic Park. Wash looked to the couch, worn blankets draped over the cushions to try and hide the fact it was falling apart.

And there she was, Ari, laid against the arm of the couch. She was her usual docile self, uninjured and having her back stroked by the little boy Wash recognised as Lavernius Tucker's son.

As soon as Wash caught sight of her his irritation at being subjected to Tucker's presence melted away.

"Ari," Wash breathed in relief, bobbing down. The cat looked up when her companion spoke and jumped down from the sofa, padding leisurely towards him, content and blissfully unaware of the panic she had caused. Wash picked her up, her weight familiar as she settled against him, purring.

Junior, now cat-less, ran over to his father so that he could hide behind his leg, hand gripping Tucker's shorts. He pressed his face out of sight.

"Junior, aren't you going to say hi to our new friend?" Donut asked, moving down onto his knees. “He can’t say ‘thank you’ if you don’t introduce yourself.”

Tucker resisted the urge to make a joke about Donut’s face now being level with his crotch.

Donut smiled patiently when Junior stayed quiet. “How about a wave?”

“It’s alright if you don’t want to,” Tucker added, hand reaching back to smooth out his hair. Wash was, admittedly, a little surprised at Tucker’s patience, having expected him to be the type to push his child out into the spotlight.

It was silent a few moments before Junior peered out from behind Tucker’s leg to give Wash a quick wave, eyes wide and nervous, hiding away again before Wash could return it.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Junior,” Wash said instead. “Thank you for finding Ari for me, I was very worried about her.”

The child shrugged.

“You’ve fallen pretty in love with her, huh, little dude?” Tucker’s gaze was cast backwards on Junior.

“…Well. I should get going. Would you like to say goodbye to Ari before I take her home?” Wash began, only to be cut off by Donut.

“Going? But we only just got here! We haven’t even celebrated! This calls for cocktails.”

 _Cocktails!?_ Wash thought. _It’s barely noon!_

“I don’t have anything for making cocktails, dude, I had to sell my blender last week,” admitted Tucker, “but I have some vodka and peach schnapps if you wanna use those.”

“We’ll go to mine then!” Donut stood up, heading for the kitchen and reappearing with the bottles. “Let’s go.”

Wash didn’t like the idea of that. “I- I think it’s best if I take Ari home.”

“She can come with us.” Donut was dead set on his plan, shoving one of the bottles under his arm and curling the other around Wash’s, leaning into him like they were old friends. “Come on, Wash, it’ll be no fun without you.”

Wash sighed and held the electric of Donut’s gaze unsurely. He knew with certainty his presence would have no effect on the fun Donut had, that he was just trying to involve him. It was like Donut could feel the loneliness radiating from his entire being.

He didn’t want to go, and the over-familiar touch to his arm made him more than a little uncomfortable, not to mention the fact he’d have to spend more time with Tucker, a man who had done nothing but humiliate him. Then again, Donut had spent his entire morning trying to help Wash, a practical stranger, all with enthusiasm and a big smile. Maybe if someone with as genuine kindness as Donut was friends with someone like Tucker, he couldn’t be that bad.

Maybe it was time for him to move on and make some friends again. Hell, it was practically being handed to him, _forced_ on him.

“…Alright. I guess I can come for a little while but-”

“Yay!” cheered Donut, taking Wash’s hand and pulling him back towards the hall before he could protest. “To Donut’s boudoir!”

Tucker stared after them in shock. Just like that, he was having drinks with cat-guy.

He could have kissed Franklin; not only had he managed get Wash in a situation where he would have to talk to him, but he’d be drinking too! The perfect fast track to get to know someone. He beamed.

“Is there anything you wanna bring to Donut’s with us?” Tucker asked.

Junior shook his head, but Tucker picked up his Gameboy anyway. He paused the movie and hauled Junior up onto his hip, locking up and following after his three hundred dollar prize.

A cocktail sounded really good right about now.


	4. 07/16/20xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junior doesn't want to go to school and Tucker can't afford to miss work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [rvlakia](http://rvlakia.tumblr.com/)

“Eat, eat, eat, come on, dude, we’re gonna be late.” Tucker stormed into the kitchen, throwing his phone onto the kitchen table after checking the time. He knew if they weren't out the door in the next five minutes Junior was going to be late for school, and more importantly, he was going to be late for work.

He stuffed Junior's homework reading into his rucksack, having just spent fifteen minutes trying to find the fucking thing in the mess of Junior’s room. 'Dinotrux', the front cover read, the book about half-truck, half-dinosaur creatures who inhabited the Earth before man. It was one of Junior's favourite books, having chosen it for his reading the last four weeks in a row. Tucker needed to buy him his own copy.

“Junior, food, mouth, now.” Tucker was stressed, starting to pack Junior’s lunch.

Junior didn’t look up, still half way through his bowl of Lucky Charms, staring down at the mushy mess, playing with it with his spoon.

Cupboards and draws were opened and slammed in Tucker’s hurry, the man putting together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, adding a bag of chips, a chocolate bar and an apple Junior wasn’t going to eat.

Tucker tied up the paper bag and shoved the lunch into Junior's school bag. He flung open the fridge. "You want an apple juice box or an orange juice box with your lunch?"

The man walked over and held out the choices under his nose, Junior just staring blankly.

"Junior. Pick one or I'm gonna have to do it for you."

Junior pushed the boxes away and looked back to his uneaten breakfast. He continued to poke milk-soaked marshmallows around the bowl, not answering.

"Fine. Orange juice, then," Tucker said, trying his hardest to keep irritation out of his tone, throwing the juice box into the backpack and zipping it up. “Time to go.”

Junior swallowed, finally looking up. He got down from the kitchen table and rubbed at his stomach dramatically in front of Tucker, bringing the free hand up to his lips and putting his thumb in his mouth.

"You can't be sick, you were fine all weekend, Junior.”

Junior made a soft noise of discomfort. He didn't want to go to school, he wanted to stay at home with Daddy and his dinosaurs. He didn’t have to feign his sickness, it was real, just the thought of the kids in his class making fun of him, of Mrs Chorus making him go play outside at recess, it churned his stomach.

Tucker ignored the routine and carried Junior's bag out into the hallway. "Time to get your shoes on."

The child stayed in the kitchen, panic expanding in his chest. He looked around for some kind of solution, but all he saw was his uneaten breakfast, his dinosaurs, the cluttered counters.

When he was nervous he used to hide in the kitchen cupboards, but that was when he was younger, and he was too big to fit now.

Junior grabbed his plastic velociraptor and moved onto his hands and knees, settling for the next best thing and crawling under the table. He pulled the chairs in after himself, bringing his knees up to his chest.

Daddy called his name from the hall and Junior hid his face in his hands, pressing the dinosaur against his cheek.

Tucker came back into kitchen with a pair of Junior's shoes, looking around in confusion before he caught sight of his son under the kitchen table.

“Stop being silly. Come here so I can put your shoes on.”

When he stayed under the table Tucker slammed the shoes onto the counter, striding over and bobbing down to look underneath.

"Stop it. You are going to school. You cannot miss another day. Get out from under the table," snapped Tucker. He couldn't miss another day at work, he was walking a fine line as it was. If he lost this job he was fucked, big style.

"Junior, come on." He pulled out a chair, hand moving out to grab Junior's arm.

Junior pulled himself out of the grip easily, scooting backwards, eyes closed. Tucker gripped the edge of the table, frustrated and tired.

"Lavernius," Tucker yelled through gritted teeth. "Get your ass out from under that table right now, or I swear to fucking God!"

Junior exploded into tears, his cries extinguishing Tucker's anger like a bucket of ice.

Tucker wavered as he realised what he’d just done, that he’d just directly caused his son such distraught.

"Hey, hey, little dude, hey, don't cry. Don’t cry, sweetheart. I'm sorry. Daddy's sorry, okay?"  Tucker pushed another chair out of the way so that he could squeeze his body under the table. "Come here. I’m sorry. You don’t have to go to school. I’m so sorry. You want a hug? I'm sorry."

Junior threw himself at his father, causing Tucker's head to smack up against the wood above them. He didn't say anything, biting back pain and cuddling Junior to his chest, stroking his hair and his back.

"What's wrong, huh? You really not feeling good?" Tucker soothed him, ignoring the plastic that was being dug into his abdomen. "My poor little dude. You can stay at home, okay? I'll call Mrs Chorus. I’m sorry, Junior, I shouldn’t have yelled at you."

Junior felt the knots in his stomach untangle as his Daddy said those magic words: 'you can stay at home.' He let out a sniffle of relief. Junior dropped his velociraptor, hands moving to grab Tucker's hair instead, knees pressed down against the sticky linoleum.

They sat like that together for a while, Tucker soothing his son with gentle touches and words, eyebrows knitted together in worry.

Junior's behaviour wasn't a normal thing, Tucker knew that; five year olds weren't supposed to be so anxious and quiet all the God damn time, they were supposed to be loud and excitable, wanting to go outside- wanting to go to school. He was in kindergarten, for fuck's sake, not high school! Wasn’t kindergarten about playing games and having fun?

"Daddy?" Junior said, breathing now steady against Tucker's bare neck.

Tucker looked. "Yeah, buddy?"

Junior picked up his discarded toy, showing it to his father.

"Dinosaur." His voice was hoarse from his tears.

"Yeah, my little dude." Tucker smiled and thumbed the tear tracks off Junior's cheeks. "It's a velociraptor."

Junior nodded in agreement, giving an exhausted smile back.

"Let's get you back in your PJs and back to bed." Tucker scooted back out from their table, ignoring the aching from whacking his head, carrying Junior back to his bedroom.

"You go to sleep. I'll be in the other room waiting for when you wake up, okay?" Tucker lied after he'd gotten Junior settled.

He pressed a kiss to his forehead and stepped over his toys so he could shut the curtains, leaving the door ajar as he closed it.

He made a beeline for the kitchen, picking up his phone. Five unread messages.

"Fuck."

* * *

 

* * *

Tucker fumbled with his phone in his panic to hit his boss’ number, bringing the mobile to his ear, listening as it rang out. He prayed he had called back in time.

“It’s about time,” she said as she picked up the phone. “I have a new guy starting in twenty minutes and you were supposed to be showing him the ropes. Where the hell are you?”

Tucker ran a hand over his face. “I’m at home. Junior’s sick again and-”

The woman scoffed. “Again? Please, you already didn’t turn up to any of your shifts last week with the same bullshit excuse. I’m sorry, Tucker, but if you keep pulling this shit I’m going to have to assign your shifts to someone else. You know, someone who’s actually going to show up to work on time? Or at all?”

“Kimball, listen. I know it sounds like bullshit but it’s not. I promise.”

Another scoff.

“Hey, you think I’d lie about this shit?! I really need this job! You think I enjoy losing money? I have a kid! I’ve been having to sell our shit for like two months just to get by- I don’t know what the hell is wrong with him, alright? It’s like, a legitimate situation going on.”

“Maybe try, I don’t know, taking him to a doctor and finding out the problem?”

“Wow! You’re a fucking genius! A doctor!” replied Tucker. “Why the fuck didn’t I think of that? That’ll solve all my fucking problems, won’t it? ‘Take him to a doctor.’ You wanna know what the piece of shit doctor who I took him to told me? That there’s nothing wrong with him! And then the motherfucker charged me eighty fucking dollars for the fucking privilege!”

Kimball’s voice took on a hard, sudden edge. “You need to calm down. Right now.”

Had Tucker really just said that out loud? To his boss? He breathed heavily, glaring down at the floor before he screwed his eyes shut. “…I’m sorry. I just-”

“You have a lot going on,” Kimball answered, softening again, “and I get it, Tucker, I really do. And I’m really sorry that things are sucky for you at the moment but I can’t afford to keep you as an employee anymore. I’ve got to think about my business, Tucker. I have a family to provide for just like you do.”

“No, no, no, Vanessa, please. _Please,_ ” Tucker begged, gripping the back of a chair. “I’ll be there. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be there. I will be there. I won’t miss another shift. I won’t. I swear on Junior’s life, I won’t. I’ll be your best employee. Just this one more chance, I won’t fuck it up, I won’t.”

Kimball was silent before she let out a long, drawn out sigh. “Fine. You have twenty minutes.”

Before Tucker could start his thanks she’d already hung up.

Twenty minutes to get there. He looked at the time again, worrying his bottom lip through his teeth. It took fifteen to get to the car wash by foot so he had a grand total of five minutes to find some form of child care for Junior. What the hell was he gonna do?

Tucker left his apartment barefoot, leaving his front door open behind him, slamming on Church and Caboose’s door opposite him until his knuckles ached. Church would already be at work but Caboose was unemployed, he’d be in, he had to be.

“Caboose! Caboose, dude, this is really fucking important! Hey, moron!” The desperation in his voice was audible. “This isn’t funny. Come outside. Caboose!”

No answer.

“Damn it!” Tucker slammed his fist a final time against the door and looked to the stairs to Red Floor.

Grif would be at the diner, Simmons too, and Donut would be sleeping for his night time shift that evening. Sarge? No, it was Monday, he’d be out at the shooting range. Lopez? That was a hard, straight no, the guy gave Tucker the creeps.

Tears burned at the corners of Tucker’s eyes as he slammed his head against Church’s front door, crumpling onto the dirty floor of the hallway. He’d only just gotten social services off his ass, this couldn’t be happening again. Why could he never do anything right? He was a shit father. All he wanted was for Junior to be fed and happy and he couldn’t even do that.

“Uh, Tucker, are you okay?”

Tucker looked up and was greeted with the concerned face of Wash, the man peering down at Tucker, shopping bags in hands. He shifted awkwardly under Tucker’s intense stare.

“Yeah, I’m great,” Tucker suddenly chirped back, putting on his best smile and sitting back against Church’s door, his ass on the hallway carpet. “I’m about to lose my job and my kid is fucking miserable but other that, I’m as fine as a stripper’s ass, thanks for asking!”

Wash stared a few moments, prompting, “Lose your job?”

Why was Washington acting like he gave a shit? He’d spent the entire afternoon yesterday looking disinterested and making minimum conversation with both him and Donut, more interested in his fucking cat.

“Yeah, I’ve been told I have twenty minutes to get into work before I lose it and there’s no one to watch my sick kid.”

“Why don’t you ask Donut? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Jeez, who'd have thought? I'd love to do that but Donut works nights and the thing about working nights is that people who work them tend to like to sleep during the day so they can be awake for them,” rambled Tucker sarcastically.

Wash’s eyes narrowed. Tucker’s words were kind of considerate in their own, assholey kind of way. He opened his mouth to speak, stopping himself momentarily before he decided he was sick of staying quiet. “You can be a real dick, Tucker. I was only trying to help.”

“I can tell you ‘bout some real dick. Bow-chicka-bow-wow.”

Wash rolled his eyes, trying not to crack a smile as Tucker’s laughter became strained.

“…Tough crowd,” Tucker joked at the lack of response.

“You’re an asshole,” Washington said without malice.

“Sorry. It’s Church, he’s a bad influence,” Tucker replied, sighing and changing his mind with a wistful smile. “No, that’s a lie, I shouldn’t blame him. I can be just as bad as he is.”

Wash made a half laugh. He didn't even know who Church was.

“I don’t know if you failed to notice but I’ve never really developed a filter.”

“No one in this apartment building has,” Wash exclaimed, back on track, opening up a little. “I’ve lived with some strange people in my lifetime, but you guys, by far, are the most-” Tucker readied himself to be insulted, “-interesting set of individuals I’ve ever met in my life.”

“…Interesting?” Tucker blinked. He watched in surprise as a small, but friendly, smile grew on Wash’s lips.

Tucker had never noticed how attractive Washington was when he wasn’t scowling. Sure, bags drooped under his eyes and there was the scar across his jaw, but those were small things, things that made Wash who he was.

He had a nice smile. His eyes were like storm clouds ready to burst on a summer’s day, soft and grey, his lashes brown. The lines of his face added depth; there may have been the beginnings of crows’ feet and wrinkles on his brow, but there were laughter lines too, so he must have been happy in his life at some point. Tucker wondered if the sun brought out his freckles.

“Yeah, interesting,” Wash confirmed, moving his groceries into one hand so that he could help Tucker up off the floor. “I thought before that you were making fun of me, or that you had some kind of motive behind introducing yourself,” he shrugged, “but I see now that it’s just who you are. That you were being friendly. That you were actually trying to ask me out for coffee, or whatever, and I was being rude to you for no reason. And I’m sorry for that. You’re a nice guy, you’re just a little cocky. I see that now."

Tucker ignored the pang of guilt and quirked a smile.

Wash swallowed. “But anyway, after I got back from Iraq it’s been a little difficult for me to take anything at face value, it’s made it hard to trust people.”

Tucker stared - he didn’t know Wash was a vet. Missing pieces were falling into place, Wash’s behaviour suddenly making so much sense.

“So, yeah,” Wash kept rambling, “what I’m basically trying to say is that I’m sorry and I hope we can be friends.”

Tucker broke into a fuller grin, words unscripted and genuine. “Sure, man, I’d love to be friends.”

“Great.” Wash’s own smile came easier.

Tucker realised this was the man he was supposed to be manipulating and felt his grin become forced. He was disgusted with himself.

Washington glanced to Tucker’s open door. "So, uh, I know you’ve only just met me and I understand if you don’t wanna leave me alone with your kid, but I’m not really doing anything today, or ever really, so I wouldn’t mind watching him for you. You sound like you really need this job.”

Tucker pulled his phone from his back pocket. 9:53 AM. Now he had less than ten minutes to get to the car wash and no time to find an alternative baby sitter.

He looked to his apartment, to David Washington, to his phone. Tucker made his decision and prayed it was the right one. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d really appreciate that. I’ll try and get hold of someone to take him off your hands ASAP. Thanks, Wash. I owe you a blow job or something.”

Wash’s ears warmed. “I’ll settle for a ‘thanks’. Just let me drop these off at my apartment and I’ll be right over.”

“Awesome. I’ll leave my keys in the door.”

Tucker went back inside and stomped his feet into his work trainers, tying up his laces. He closed his door and left the key in the lock for Wash like he’d told him he would, pressing a mental kiss to Junior’s forehead.

He jogged down the apartment’s staircase and out onto Main Street before he could regret his decision, breaking out into a run.

Feet hitting pavement, Tucker ignored yells as he pushed past inconsiderate assholes in his way, sticking up a middle finger at a car that almost ran him over as he crossed the street towards Kimball’s Auto Shine. He could still hear its horn blaring as he jogged past his co-workers outside, not having time to flash a smile let alone say hello. He went inside and threw open the door to Kimball’s office.

The clock above his boss’ head clicked to exactly ten o’clock. Tucker was just too good.

“Hey!” Tucker gasped for air. “Told you I’d be here in twenty!”

He supported himself against the door way, trying to soften Vanessa’s stare with his best, most charming smile. She pursed her lips in return, hands clasped over her desk.

“Lavernius, so nice of you to finally join us, take a seat.” She was being passive aggressive, Kimball’s forte, the woman gesturing to an open seat.

“God, don’t ever call me that again, I’m getting flashbacks of my mother.” Tucker flopped himself down in an armchair, anxiety making him cocky. He realised there was another person in the room.

The guy was sat in the chair adjacent, watching Tucker with an expression that could be described as mildly bemused. He looked young, too young for the tattoos wrapped around his arms and the piercings on his face. Although, Asians tended to have a knack for looking twelve in the first twenty-five or so years of their life, Tucker conceded.

“This is the new guy I was telling you about. He’s starting today. I want you to show him the in’s and out’s.”

“Bow-chicka-bow-wow.”

Before Kimball could scold Tucker the Asian was laughing, metal glimmering on his tongue as he spoke. “I’m liking this place already. What did she say your name was again? Lavernius?”

Tucker cringed. “Lavernius _Tucker_. Call me Tucker, please.”

He laughed again, standing up to shake Tucker’s hand. “Felix.”

Felix’s hand was deceitfully small - it looked breakable but Tucker could tell from the calloused feel of his palm that his hands were tough, the kind of tough you could only develop from years of manual labour. Tucker liked him already, it meant he wasn’t going to spend the whole day whining over how hot it was outside, or how the disinfectant was hurting his hands, or how tiring the work was. Tucker got more than enough of that with every new turnaround of staff; car washers tended not to last that long.

Tucker had gotten all of that whining out of his system early, when he was seventeen and working cash in hand at a sketchy warehouse. Even then he couldn’t afford to whine much, he had had Junior and Kai to provide for.

“Nice to meet you, Felix. Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone and show you how we clean cars.”

“There’s more than one way to clean a car?” Now Felix was being cocky.

“Yeah,” replied Tucker sharply, grinning, “the right way.”

Kimball raised a brow from behind her desk. “I can trust you with Felix’s induction, then?”

“Yes, Boss.” Tucker mock-saluted, turning back to mouth a ‘thank-you’ her way as they left through her door. There was no reason for her to keep Tucker on, she could have so easily told him he’d missed one day too many. She was allowing him this last chance.

He took Felix outside, beginning to cross the parking lot to where a car was being serviced. “I’ll introduce you to the gang first, then I can talk you through the different types of washes.”

“Different types of washes?” Felix monotoned.

“Fuck yeah. There’s the quick wash, bronze wash, silver wash and the gold wash.”

“ _Wow,”_ Felix said with too much enthusiasm. “That sounds _fascinating._ ”

Tucker stopped momentarily to give Felix a look. “You’re kind of a dickhead, huh?”

“Maybe a little.” Felix grinned back almost manically this time, and Tucker noticed a few of his front teeth were chipped.

“You’ll fit right in then,” said Tucker.

They started walking again, reaching a party of three not so discreetly squabbling as the customer waited on the wall next to the garage with their boyfriend.

“Guys, this is Felix,” Tucker interrupted the bickering, having to stop himself from rolling his eyes, “he’s the guy replacing Bitters.”

“Welcome to the-” a teenager slurped saliva through her braces- “team. I’m Katie, but everyone calls me Jensen.”

“Smith.” A man who looked a good few years older than Tucker introduced, snatching a sponge from another co-worker.

“The ladies call me Palomo.” The mulatto teen who had just had his sponge taken by Andersmith smiled, trying to lean casually on the bonnet of the car, his hand slipping on the suds. He fell on his ass, Jensen giggling away in the background.

“Oh my God,” Felix moaned, looking up at the sky. He was regretting getting a proper job already, he was going to kill Locus for talking him into this absolute bullshit.

Tucker laughed and slapped Felix on the back. “Better get this done quick- damn, is this that girl’s car? She is _smoking._ ”

Felix grit his teeth into a smile, trying not to think of different ways to severe Tucker’s hand from his wrist.

-

“I’m so glad its lunchtime. I’ve been dreaming about this dog all morning.” Tucker was practically drooling as they exited the gas station, going back across the street to sit outside Kimball’s office.

“You’re a brave man eating gas station food,” commented Felix, having brought his own lunch in his bag in the locker room.

“I’ve trained for it my entire life.” Tucker punched at his gut with a free hand. “Iron stomach.”

They got settled on the low-cut brick wall, Tucker eyeing Felix out the corner of his eye as he lit up a cigarette.

“So, what’s the story behind the tats?” Tucker took a bite into his hotdog,

“Depends which tattoo you’re talking about,” Felix answered. He took a long drag, letting the smoke sit inside himself before he exhaled, eyes closed. It felt good after an awful morning of putting up with pathetic, annoying people.

“The dragonfly.” Tucker’s mouth was full.

Felix’s eyelids snapped open, sneering in offence. “It’s not a fucking dragonfly; it’s a locust.”

Ash was flicked in Tucker’s general direction, Tucker moving away. “Fuck, what the hell is wrong with you? Like I’m supposed to know the difference!” he exclaimed.

Felix laughed gleefully at Tucker’s reaction, it soothing a little of his boredom. He sobered. “It’s for my soulmate.”

“Your fucking soulmate?” Tucker ridiculed, taking another bite.

Felix slid closer again, not missing the way Tucker tensed. He liked having that kind of effect on people; being able to put them on edge.

“Yeah, my fucking soulmate, Tucker.” Felix stared him down, unashamed, tobacco stained fingers tracing over the locust on his forearm. “The love of my lives. Our fates entwined until we die, and die, and die again. My second self.”

“Are you high?” Ketchup stained the corner of Tucker’s mouth.

Felix laughed again to hide his disgust, leaning back and playing with his tongue stud. “I wish. People like you never understand.”

Tucker didn’t even know how to respond. “…She hot?”

Felix smirked and sucked in death, letting the smoke drift from his nostrils this time. “Very.”

-

Was there anything in Tucker’s kitchen that wasn’t processed garbage? White bread, marshmallow creme, plastic cheese, vacuumed packed lunch meat, full fat milk, endless packets of Lays - the list went on. Washington hadn’t seen so much crap in one kitchen since York's bachelor apartment.

His body tensed, he could feel eyes on him, pausing his rummaging to look behind himself.

He relaxed, it was only Tucker’s son.

Junior stood wide eyed and visibly scared, thumb in his mouth, hand in his hair. He had just woken up, having thought the sounds coming from the kitchen were his Daddy, hungry and wanting something to eat. His Daddy had said he would be there when he woke up, where was his Daddy?

“…Hey, Junior. How are you feeling?” Wash asked, straightening up and turning fully.

Junior stayed glued to the spot

Wash rubbed a sweaty hand on his pants. “Your Dad needed to go into work so... it’s just us two until he comes home. Or sends someone else over. I’m kind of hoping for the latter, I’m not that great at this. As you can tell.”

Junior stared and took a step backwards.

Wash gave an awkward smile, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible, glancing back to the kitchen. “You hungry? I can make you something to eat, if you are. If you're hungry, that is."

Junior continued his unsure gaze for a few long, breathless seconds before he padded over to the kitchen table. He side-eyed Washington cautiously and sat down. The only reason he hadn't run away and locked himself away in the bathroom yet was because he knew Wash was Sabre's owner, that Daddy was friends with him, but there was still a distinct possibility he was going to do just that if he became too nervous.

"I was thinking of a sandwich. You like sandwiches?" Wash got the loaf out the cupboard, taking the processed ham and a tub of butter out of the fridge. He opened draws until he found a knife. He glanced back at Junior before he pulled a few slices out of the bread bag. “I think my favourite would be a BLT. Your dad ever make you one of those before?"

Wash turned his head in time to see the child shake his head.

"They're super good. It’s bacon, lettuce and tomato. I usually grill the bread too."

Junior thought it sounded pretty yummy, he did like bacon. He opened his abandoned colouring book, beginning work again on his pterodactyl.

"I end up frying a couple of rashers for my cats too. Epsilon especially likes bacon, but he was a stray, so he'll pretty much eat anything I give him. I found him a couple of weeks after I moved in here, he was living in an alley down the street."

Junior pretended not to be interested.

"It took me a month to convince him to come home with me. I ended up spending most of my living allowance on tins of tuna for him, I’d stop by his alley and sit with him for a couple of hours every night."

Wash put Junior's sandwich on a plate and cut it up into squares, setting it down carefully next to his crayons.

He sat opposite the child, searching for something else to say. "Do you have a favourite animal? I think you can guess what mine is," Wash settled on.

Junior smiled down at the table lightly, switching colours. He tapped the page before he went about making the pterodactyl's beak a light shade of green.

"Dinosaurs?" Wash asked, noting the curl on Junior's lips, it making Wash smile too.

Junior nodded in affirmation, the strokes of his crayon gentle. He set the colour down and pulled the plate closer so he could eat his sandwich, taking a big bite. He kept his eyes downward.

Wash noticed that he was still in his pyjamas, about to suggest Junior got dressed before he changed his mind. He should leave that to Tucker, or at least another adult who knew Junior better. Wash was surprised enough as it was that Tucker trusted him with his son in the first place.

"Dinosaurs are a bit scary for me, you'd have to protect me from them."

Junior made a soft giggle.

At least that was something. Wash was good at dealing with silence, often preferring it, so why was this one so difficult? It put Washington on edge the longer Junior retained it. "You wanna play a game after you've finished?"

Junior stopped chewing and looked up, finally meeting Wash's eyes. Wash wondered why he was holding his gaze so intensely before he realised Junior wanted him to expand.

Games. What games did Wash know? Age appropriate games at that. This was hard. "How about… hide and seek?"

Junior considered the offer seriously. He nodded after a few moments and went back to eating, Wash letting out a breath he didn't realise he had been holding in. He relaxed.

-

Tucker unlocked his front door, feet aching familiarly from being on them all day, looking forward to sitting down. He hoped for ten minutes peace at least. He let himself inside, untying his hair and letting it fall free, tying his bandana around his wrist. Tucker wandered down to the hall to peer into the living room.

The sight shocked him, so he stayed back, hidden in the doorway, observing.

His entire living room was taken up by a pillow fort, Tucker noticing chairs from his kitchen being used to hold up blankets, the couch cushions overturned, duvets and pillows from his and Junior’s beds strewn on the floor.

“Can you pass me the yellow?” Washington asked from where he laid on the floor, opposite his son, one of Junior’s colouring books open in front of him.

Junior paused his drawing to pass over a yellow felt tip, Wash taking the pen gently.

“Thanks,” said Wash. “Can I see yet?”

Junior shook his head and tried to hide a grin, pulling a cushion dividing them closer to his paper so that Wash couldn’t peek.

Tucker smiled, walking into the room to make his presence known. “Hey.”

Junior gasped and jumped up, running over to Tucker and jumping up and down in front of him. He grabbed his hands up at him. “Daddy!”

Wash sat up in surprise; he'd never heard Junior speak before, having reached the conclusion he couldn’t. He smiled sheepishly as he caught the brown of Tucker’s eyes.

Tucker scooped Junior up, cuddling him close, pressing a few kisses to the side of his face. “Hey, little pimp. You feeling better?”

Wash smiled in amusement, waiting for Tucker and Junior to finish their greeting before he spoke. Wash liked seeing Tucker being so gentle, thinking his genuine smile looked so much more beautiful than the one he had when he was putting on a show. _Shit_ , Wash thought, _since when do I find this guy beautiful?_

“I need to get going, my cats will be wanting their dinner.” Wash didn’t let the panic show in his expression, his face neutral. “You want me to stay to help you clean up our fort?”

“Nah, dude, it’s alright, we’ll probably sleep in it tonight,” Tucker replied, Junior’s face hidden under his dreadlocks. “Thanks so much for watching him, Wash. I don’t know what the fuck I would have done without you.”

“Don’t mention it, it was nice to have the company.” Wash walked to the door, re-zipping his hoodie.

“I’ll have to find a way to repay you. You sure you don’t want that favour?” Tucker winked and made an obscene gesture with his free hand.

Wash stomach twisted, amazed he could pull shit like with his son in his arms without a single inclining of shame. “Really sure, Tucker, honestly. I’ll see you guys around. Bye, Junior.”

“See ya, hot stuff,” Tucker returned and opened his front door. Junior peeked out from Tucker’s hair to give Wash a smile and a wave of his own.

Tucker set Junior down once Washington was gone, noticing he was still wearing his jungle pyjamas. He should probably change out of those, he’d been wearing them for the past two nights before today and they were probably gross.

“Go pick some new PJs, little man, and I’ll run you a bath before dinner,” he told him, Junior flashing a smile before he went off to his bedroom obediently.

The living room fort looked pretty impressive now that Tucker thought about it. He stepped over pillows and discarded toys so that he could pick up the picture Junior had been working on, curious. He broke into smile at the sight: his son had drawn Wash, Tucker, ‘Sabre’ and himself, Junior’s usual handwriting captioning everyone above their heads.

It was cute. Tucker brushed his thumb over Wash’s spiky hair. David Washington. Was he really still planning on using this guy to extort money from Church? They’d only been speaking a couple of days but he seemed like the kind of man Tucker should be pursuing seriously, not just for some leg over and a pay-out.

He sighed and put the drawing back where he found it.

Tucker had a lot of figuring out to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments. If you're reading this you're obligated to touch my butt. Not really. Okay, really.


	5. 07/17/20xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another day of being a civilian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [rvlakia](http://rvlakia.tumblr.com/)

Washington’s day started with a mouthful of fur, the man shoving the heaving mass of a Skyler off his face. Cat number two, Ari, was curled up on his chest, Wash having to sit up to disturb her, the creature meowing in offence as she moved to lay by his side instead. He could feel a weight on his ankles, squinting down, unsurprised to find Epsilon glaring back at him as if to say, _I dare you to fucking move me._

He tried slipping a foot out from under him in negotiation, receiving a grumble in response.

“Shut up,” Wash replied, blinking groggily as he retracted his second foot, swinging his legs out of bed and throwing back the covers. He was sure the second-hand fabric had been a shade of white once upon a time, but now it held a dull grey tone.

He was absolutely exhausted, having managed to drift into the elusive abyss of sleep a little after three, but the rest had been fitful and shallow, his body snapping awake at every sound. Washington had a complicated relationship with sleep - whilst his body keened for it his mind did not, his unconsciousness liking to use it as an excuse to drag up memories he would rather leave behind.

As much as Wash desperately tried to train himself back into civilian life, the ex-agent could never quite manage it, unable to get out of the mindset of war. All he had known his entire life was the military so it was like trying to cut away an essential piece of himself, like he was being asked to cut away a hand or a foot.

_“There’s no shame in an honourable discharge, Washington.”_

Honourable discharge, his ass. He had asked to stay, begged the better word, but the higher-ups had wanted him gone, and it was easy to find a psychiatrist to convince The Board he wasn’t stable enough to stay. Fucking Aiden Price.

Agent Washington wasn’t stupid. He was the sole survivor of a grade A fuck up, shipping him away under the guise of trauma meant officials couldn’t touch him. He was the dust that needed sweeping under the rug; the answer to a question his superiors didn’t want asking.

He closed his eyes.

A military death he could do, at least that would kill him quickly, this mundane existence was like watching flames lick closer and closer to his body as he watched helplessly across from the fire. You could forgive him for wanting to douse himself in gasoline and throw himself into the carnage to get it over and done with.

He stretched his arms up above his head, just in time for his alarm to chime, Wash moving an arm over to switch it off. It was five-thirty AM.

Getting up, Wash killed twenty minutes taking a shower and feeding his cats, out of the door by six for a morning run sans his treadmill. The cool air of the summer’s morning was sharp against his skin and refreshed his lungs, the familiar burn of his muscles pleasant and grounding.

He returned home, making himself breakfast and realising he had forgotten to buy milk during yesterday's grocery trip.

“Great,” the man said aloud as he poured the dregs of the previous carton over granola. He ate the cereal with a banana and a cup of no-bits orange juice, pouring his leftover milk into the cats’ food dish. Skyler was already at his heels, lapping up the treat greedily before she had to share. Wash huffed a laugh and rinsed out the bowl in the sink.

Next, Washington emptied the litter tray in the hall, throwing his trash in the garbage chute outside before he went downstairs to check his mail.

“Good Morning, Washington,” Sarge greeted from his office window, breaking Wash out of his mindless routine.

“Morning, Sergeant.” Wash was respectful. He expected nothing in his pigeon hole and found nothing when he opened it, the whole experience pretty indifferent. He locked it back up.

“You seen this? I’d execute the dirt bag if I could.” Sarge gestured to his newspaper, an ugly scowl twisted on scarred lips.

Wash glanced, catching the headline and looking away. “I don't follow the news anymore.”

_Not after what I’ve seen he’s capable of. Not after what he did to my team._

He started walking away, Wash catching some of Sarge’s departing words despite how he tried to ignore them. “You should never be ignorant when it comes to the enemy; no matter how despicable they may be!” he called.

Washington locked his door and tried to push the words out of his system. Ignorance was bliss after all. Like he had the luxury of ignoring it. It was all around him. Turn on the television and it was all the news anchors were talking about.

‘ _Malcolm Hargrove Trial Continues’_

He hung up his hoodie and did crunches on his kitchen floor until his abdomen ached and he couldn’t breathe. He tore away his shirt and forced himself over to follow up with four hundred push-ups. He tucked an arm behind his back at two-hundred-and-sixty-three, grunting as the exhaustive pain soothed his mind temporarily.

Eventually, even adrenaline couldn’t keep Washington distracted and he collapsed onto the floor. He struggled to catch his breath, and as images of his old team filled his mind, he broke into tears, chest heaving and sticky with sweat.

Wash dragged himself up into sitting, tears staining his face as repressed memories threatened to haunt him again.

“Maine, I’m so sorry,” he whispered. All he wanted was his presence, his steady heartbeat, the broadness of his shoulders and the scent of his skin. If he closed his eyes he could pretend his friend was beside him; he wouldn’t be saying anything, he’d be silent.

Wash remembered finding his body in the carnage, face down in a pool of his own blood. He remembered how he’d wiped his lover’s blood across his face and laid motionless beside him, letting them think he was dead with the rest of them, like the fucking coward he was.

His distraught turned to anger, a red hot fury burning in Washington’s stomach, his fists itching to lash out and hit something. He thought of Hargrove’s face and he swore he could hear his blood boiling.

He took in a few shuddery breaths and reminded himself that he wasn’t that person anymore, he controlled his anger, his anger didn’t control him. He tugged at his hair in frustration, willing the tears leaking from his eyes to stop, for his uncontrollable shaking to cease.

It wasn’t fair, he was the least deserving one out of everyone to have walked away with his life and here he was, breathing and living. He was shit at living, even Agent Wyoming would probably be doing a better at job at it than he was.

Wash looked up, realising he had an audience, Ari, Skyler and Epsilon watching him from the kitchen counter.

He let out a little sob and released the punishing grip on his hair. “Hey, guys.” Wash’s voice wobbled.

No response. He wasn’t sure what he expected.

He wiped his eyes and got up, spending a few minutes mindlessly petting his companions. Even Epsilon seemed to sense it wasn’t a good time to be an ass, letting Washington smooth out his fur without as much as a swipe.

Showering for the second time that morning and changing into clean clothes, Wash switched on the fan on his coffee table before he collapsed on his sofa, reaching for the remote. Mindless daytime television, just what he needed.

Epsilon climbed up onto the sofa and into his lap, Wash rubbing his calloused thumb over his half-ear, flesh torn away from some alley scrap he had gotten into before Wash had taken him in. A low, broken grumble of a purr started deep in the animal’s chest and he padded against Washington’s jogging pants, stretching out.

“Oh, I get it, suck up to the guy with a fan.” He held a fond smile.

Epsilon pressed his face up into Washington’s hand. His affection was becoming less of a rarity as time progressed, and although he would still occasionally turn around and bite Wash for no apparent reason, the attacks no longer broke his skin.

It was too hot; but Wash didn’t dare open any windows again, Ari’s disappearance still fresh in his mind. He really needed to complain to Sarge about the lack of functioning air conditioning.

Closing his eyes again, he listed through things that were worth living for like Doctor Grey had taught him, things that made him happy. Let's see, he had his cats, they were very important, without him they wouldn’t have someone to look after them, and they most definitely made him happy. He struggled when it came to thinking of thing number two. That’s all he really had at this point. Was that really the best he could come up with? The cats. Although, in honesty the ex-agent would have probably killed himself already if it wasn’t for those three. That in itself was pretty pathetic.

It wasn’t like he had any friends. He paused. Okay, maybe he was being a little harsh on himself, he may not currently have friends secured at the moment but he was working on it. He had Donut and Tucker. Junior. Sarge, even. They counted for something, didn’t they? Maybe they could become thing number two stopping him from putting a bullet in between his eyes.

Tucker would want him to stay, wouldn't he?

Wash realised he was smiling and put a quick end to that. Maybe he was starting to appreciate Tucker’s attractiveness, and maybe he was starting to see him as a friend, but that didn’t mean it was developing into anything further. Relationships were not a good idea, especially not with the baggage Washington knew he had dragging around.

Wash let his eyes drift to the television screen, watching idly as the real house wives of Beverly Hills bickered predictably.

After a few more episodes the man got up to make himself lunch - a tuna mayonnaise sandwich - spending the rest of his afternoon cleaning up around the apartment and playing with his cats.

Wash considered not going for his evening run when the clock hit half five but he wasn’t one for not sticking to routine, pulling on his hoodie and leaving the apartment. He paused to grab his wallet, guessing he might as well stop off at the store to grab the carton of forgotten milk.

He entered the store, avoiding eye contact as he stared ahead. Milk. He threw a carton of semi-skimmed into his basket, ending up grabbing some sachets of cat food too since it was on offer.

Reaching the checkout counters, Wash felt a little disappointment Donut was nowhere to be seen, finding the man pleasant to both look at and talk to, in his most guarded of inner thoughts. He made as little conversation as possible with the cashier he ended up with, finding himself wishing she would scan a little faster so the whole exchange could be over and done with.

He paid by cash and left the convenience store, rain starting as he walked back outside. He sighed heavily and pulled up his hood. Half way home, the rain turned into a downpour, water seeping straight through the cotton of his hoodie, drenching his skin. He grimaced as wet hair stuck to his forehead and dribbled water onto his face. His feet squelched in his trainers.

When Wash finally, _finally_ got back to his apartment building, he dragged himself up the stairs to his floor, pushing his hand into his pocket for his keys. He stopped. It was empty. He pushed his hand into his other pocket for his keys. He stopped again. Empty. He pushed his hand into his back pocket for his keys.

“You have got to be kidding me.” The man patted down his pants, his hoodie pockets, he looked through his plastic shopping bag fruitlessly. He knew where his keys were, he had left them on his kitchen table next to his phone.

Wash tried the door handle, the door staying firmly shut. _Give me a break._

Landlords kept keys, didn’t they? Surely Sarge could let him into his home without Washington having to call a locksmith. He sighed and dropped his bag, going up to the third floor, wiping wet hands on his equally wet sweat pants.

He knocked at the pink front door of Sarge’s apartment, the colour not even cracking a smile from him as it usually did. He knocked again after a pause, rubbing his palms into his eyelids when he got no answer. He must be in his office. Wash cursed the old building for lacking an elevator and marched himself back down to the entrance, finding the window grate closed. Not a good sign. He rapped on the office door.

“Sarge? It’s David, I locked myself out of my apartment. Are you there?”

Silence. Where was he supposed to go now?

 _“I’ll have to find a way to repay you.”_ Tucker’s voice slipped into his mind.

Tucker owed him a favour, right? He would let Wash stay for a few hours while he waited for Sarge to come back from… wherever it was Sarge disappeared to for hours on end.

He walked back upstairs on autopilot, fighting off discomfort as he collected his shopping, knocking at Tucker’s door. He could really use some dry clothes and something to eat, sniffling and wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. He tried to smooth out his hair. He hoped he looked a quarter presentable at least.

There was the sound of movement inside; that was a good sign, and Wash felt a rush of relief as the door rattled lightly. It was opened, and Tucker’s smooth complexion looked out in surprise. He opened his mouth to greet Washington but was interrupted.

“Hey, Tucker,” began Wash, already feeling heat on his face at his state, needing to explain himself before he was ridiculed. “Sorry to bother you, but I got locked out and Sarge isn’t answering the door, so I can’t get in. Could I borrow a towel?”

Tucker looked Wash up and down a few times before he broke out into a smirk, thinking he looked like a drowned puppy. He held back a well-natured laugh. “Sure, man, come in, we were just about to have dinner.”

“Thanks.” Washington could feel the heat extending into his ears. This was humiliating.

Tucker shut the door behind them. “What’s in the bag?”

“Oh, uh, just some milk and cat food.”

“Give it to me and I’ll put it in the fridge.” Tucker was accommodating. “If you go get dried off in the bathroom, I’ll find something for you to get changed into, alright?”

“Thanks,” Wash repeated politely, passing over the bag.

“Stop saying ‘thanks’, idiot, and go get dry.”

Wash ducked his head with a smile and went in the direction he was gestured in. He passed the kitchen, offering Junior a little wave from the doorway. Junior, who was sat at the table playing with his dinosaurs, waved back, having been looking to see whom Tucker was talking to.

Going into Tucker’s bathroom, Wash shut the door behind him, hand moving out to slide a lock that wasn’t there. He sighed and resigned himself to unzipping his jacket, peeling off his shirt and wiggling out of his pants. Wash reached for a towel, beginning to dry his hair, mopping up the water on his face and chest.

Washington heard someone in the hall, wrapping the towel around his waist tightly and turning to the door awkwardly as it was knocked on and opened.

“I hope these fit, they’re the…” Tucker trailed off at the sight, jaw slackening.

 _Holy fucking shit,_ Tucker thought, _he’s jacked_. Okay, maybe _jacked_ was a slight exaggeration, muscles weren’t exactly bulging out of his chest, but they certainly weren’t missing either. He was just the right amount, with a defined abdomen and heavy-set biceps, his nipples hard from the chill in the air.

Tucker sure would like to run his hands over those grooves, or his tongue, his tongue sounded even better.

Wash crossed his arms self-consciously, the lust in Tucker’s eyes difficult, if not impossible, to ignore.

The movement seemed to snap Tucker out of his fantasies running away with themselves. He had the decency to blush at his own gawping, trying to laugh it off. “Right. Yeah. Clothes.”

Washington cleared his throat and nodded.

Tucker awkwardly stepped into the room and set down the toilet seat, putting the bundle on top. “I’m making lasagne. You like lasagne? You’ll like mine, it’s the best fucking lasagne in the world, even Junior’s said so.”

“Those were his exact words?”

“Alright, how about you shut the fuck up, huh?” said Tucker, tone lacking any real hostility.

Wash cracked a faint smile and Tucker returned it.

“But seriously,” continued Tucker, “what are your thoughts on lasagne?”

“Lasagne is fine,” replied Wash, reshifting when Tucker showed no sign of leaving. “I’m gonna get changed now.”

“Oh. _Oh._ Yeah, totally, dude. I’ll get out of your hair.” Tucker kept a smile plastered on his face, stepping backwards and shutting the door behind himself, calling, “Shout me if you need anything!”

He cringed as soon as he said it, holding his face in his hands. What even was that? Tucker walked to the kitchen, stopping by the fridge and thudding his head against the cool surface a few times, magnets rattling. He let out a long groan.

Tucker turned, catching an unspoken question on Junior’s face. “It’s nothing, little man. Daddy’s just being an idiot.”

That was nothing new. Junior went back to playing with his dinosaurs, arranging cutlery to make up their enclosures. He fed them broken pieces of dried pasta.

Washington came to join them at the table once he was dressed, and _damn, why does that man not wear tight-fitting shirts more often?_

“It smells good,” Wash offered, behaving as if the awkwardness in the bathroom had not occurred.

Tucker appreciated his tact. He grinned and dished out generous amounts of the pasta onto everyone’s plates. “Duh.”

When it became apparent Grace was not going to take place, Wash felt an internal slide of relief and dug in. Junior struggled to cut the layers of his piece apart, and Tucker leaned over to cut the child’s meal into more sizeable chunks.

“Tastes good too,” commented Wash around a forkful, realising too late he was talking with his mouth full, hand coming up to cover his mouth. Thankfully, Tucker seemed too occupied with Junior to have noticed, that or he just didn’t care. Wash tried to ignore how Tucker tending to Junior made his stomach squeeze up in… fondness?

“Yeah,” said Tucker, like Washington was a moron, looking up from his cutting. “It’s the best fucking lasagne ever.”

Tucker was right, the lasagne was the best fucking lasagne ever, and Washington finished his plate easily in the space of ten minutes. Tucker, too, cleared his meal fairly quickly, and Junior, who had been given an adult’s portion, impressively managing just a little over half of his meal before he pushed his own plate away.

Junior bounced in his chair once he was done, looking to Tucker expectantly.

Tucker pretended to ponder before he feigned a sigh. “Alright, I _guess_ you can go play now.”

Junior jumped up and pressed a kiss to Tucker’s cheek, flashing Wash a sheepish smile before he gathered his dino-gang from the table and padded out of the room.

“How did you know that’s what he wanted?” asked Wash conversationally once the child had left.

Collecting dirty plates, Tucker was now stood up. He cracked a smile. “He’s my son. It’s hard to explain, when you have a kid you just kind of… know? You know?” He set everything by the sink, scrapping Junior’s leftovers into the garbage.

Wash didn’t know what it was like to have a child, but he did know what it was like to understand someone so intrinsically on that level, to read someone so easily without the need for a single word.

_Maine._

Wash shook his head, ridding himself of the memory.

“Are you sure?” Tucker had still been talking during his side track, “I’m sure Junior wouldn’t mind you staying a little longer either. Plus I bought, like, a load ice-cream yesterday.” Since when was Tucker so invested in keeping crazy cat-guy around?

Wash caught on to what the original question had been. “I’d really like to, but my-”

“Your cats. Right,” Tucker interrupted, trying to fight off his disappointment. “I get it. I’ll call Sarge for you and see if he’s back.”

Wash swallowed a thank-you before he could utter it, feeling as though he had said something wrong.

A phone call later and Sarge appeared from his floor to unlock Wash’s door for him, grumbling the whole way about having just sat down. He stood in front of the apartment, flicking through his keys as he tried to find the right one.

“Haven’t you heard of like… numbering your keys?” Tucker spoke up, Junior on his hip as they waited to make sure Wash got back inside okay.

“I’ll have none of that back talk, son.” Sarge was sharp, getting enough of Donut telling him to at least colour code his master keys so that he knew which set belonged to each floor. He could work it out himself, gosh darn it.

Wash smirked, enjoying watching the pair bickering back and forth. Sarge kept up his usual, grumpy vibe, but Wash could sense there was some fondness there, as much as Sarge feigned annoyance.

Washington was good at reading in between the lines, picking out pieces of the puzzle the layman wouldn’t consider. The skill stayed with him long after he had finished with Special Forces, a lingering trait.

He recalled the afternoon he had spent at Donut and Sarge’s apartment, the way the old man’s face softened at every excitable word that came out of Donut’s mouth, directed at him or otherwise. He was a lot kinder than he let on.

Tucker groaned aloud as Sarge flipped back to the beginning of his key chain and started again, muttering something about losing count.

“It’s alright, Tucker. You can go back, I’m sure I won’t be waiting much longer.” Wash noted his impatience. “Thanks for having me over.”

“You sure, dude?”

“Yeah,” Wash replied, shopping bag in his hand and damp clothes under his arm. “I’ll bring these clothes back tomorrow.”

Tucker nodded, re-shifting the boy on his hip. “You gonna say goodbye to Wash, Junior?”

Junior peeked out and gave Wash a smile, waving the fist he had closed around a plastic stegosaurus lightly, immediately hiding his face away again.

“See you around, Wash.” Tucker smiled the genuine smile Wash liked and went back down the hallway, leaving the two ex-vets alone together.

Wash let out a tired sigh and happily let the atmosphere drift into silence. At least his day couldn’t get any worse; he was looking forward to getting out of these ill-fitting clothes and crawling into bed, feeling like he could actually get some sleep tonight.

He looked out of the second story window, listening to rattles and clicks as his landlord tried to find the right key.

“Oh, God damn it all!” Sarge suddenly barked out in realisation.

“What?” Wash asked.

“These aren’t my keys! These are the store’s keys.”

“…What?”

“Donut was suppose’ to be locking up tonight. He’s taken mine.”

Wash bit his tongue and let a few steady breaths fly in and out through his nose. “I guess I’ll have to walk to the store then.”

“Looks that way.” Sarge seemed unapologetic.

“Yeah.” Washington took it back - the day had officially gotten worse. Much worse. He was exhausted, uncomfortable and achy _and_ on top of everything else this bullshit day was giving him, he could feel a headache coming on. Go figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not filler, it's character development.
> 
> just fyi youre looking beaut today.


	6. 07/18/20xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On wednesdays we go to therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [rvlakia](http://rvlakia.tumblr.com/)

It was Wednesday. For most people Wednesdays were the middle of the week, the hump day to get over before the countdown to the weekend. For Washington it meant an early morning appointment with Doctor Emily Grey, his newest therapist. She wasn’t the most conventional of therapists - Wash was half convinced she wasn’t all that sane herself - but out of all the doctors and specialists Wash had had over the years, she certainly had made the most progress with him.

He liked Dr Grey, she was one of the few professionals who didn’t treat him as dangerous, which was the majority reaction when they read ‘Intermittent Explosive Disorder’ on his file, put there after he’d assaulted a previous Staff Sergeant after a heated disagreement (a long, exhaustive story).

“So, has anything interesting happened since our last session?”

Washington looked up from his fiddling, having been playing with the strings of his duffle bag. He thought about the question, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He moved the hand upwards, through the back of his hair, eyes moving to the plain décor behind Doctor Grey’s head. “I’ve started talking to a couple of people in my building.”

Grey leaned forward in her chair, offering direct, open eye contact, even if her patient had yet to return it. “David, that’s great! What are their names, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Tucker and Donut.”

The doctor was unable to hold back a little laugh. “I’m sorry- I apologise, but those names certainly are unique!”

Wash cracked a smile. “They’re last names. I, uh, I think that’s one of the reasons it makes it easier to talk to them.”

Grey nodded in understanding. “We should talk about them. Which one do you want to start with?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Okay, then. Let’s talk about Donut.”

“Yeah, alright.” Wash re-shifted and cleared his throat, still not meeting her gaze, “Donut is… he’s optimistic. And welcoming. It’s kind of a little unnerving how nice he is, actually. He’s handsome too. He invited me over to his apartment for drinks.”

“Oh?”

Wash felt a flush of embarrassment. “No, not like that- I, uh. It wasn’t just me there. Besides, he lives upstairs with my landlord, you know, the ex-vet I told you about? Sarge? I think they’re together.”

“And why do you think that?”

“You know, the look.”

“The look?”

“Yeah, Sarge gives him the look.”

“And how do you know this ‘look’?”

The man was silent a moment, mulling over his choice of words. “He looks at him the way Maine used to look at me.”

“How does that make you feel?”

Wash chewed at his bottom lip, thinking. “Jealous, honestly. I know it’s pretty selfish.”

“Letting yourself feel things isn’t selfish, David, we’ve talked about this-“

“I know, I know.” Washington cut her off, sighing and rubbing at the back of his neck again. He never was adept at talking about himself.

Grey let Wash deflect her this time, putting her glasses on top of her head to rub at an eye. She started again. “How did you meet?”

“Well, technically I’ve known him a few months, he works night shifts at the local convenience store so he usually ends up being my cashier, but I only really met him properly last Sunday. He helped me look for Ari when she went missing.”

“Your cat went missing?!”

“Briefly,” reassured Wash. “She’d climbed across the fire escape after I’d opened the kitchen window.”

“That must have been stressful for you.” She sympathised.

Wash breathed in and out. “Very. But she hadn’t gone very far, just next door into Tucker’s apartment.”

“Oh, I see. Is that how you ended up having drinks together?”

Wash nodded.

“And how was that?”

“…A little awkward, but I still had a nice time. Tucker and Donut have obviously known each other a long time, so they did most of the talking.”

“What did they talk about?”

“A lot of stuff. Nights out they’d been on, how their work was going, just casual stuff. Donut was pretty excited to be- I’ve never seen someone so excited over making cocktails.”

Grey nodded. “And Tucker? What’s he like?”

Wash swallowed, straightening. “He lives next door to me. When he started talking to me I thought at first he’d been put up to it, or that he was trying to use me for something,” Grey opened her mouth to inject, but Wash pushed on, “but I spent a little while thinking about it like we- like we’ve been practising, and I realised I was just being paranoid again. I think I was just a little intimidated by how sure of himself he is.”

“Sure of himself?”

“Yeah. I think confident is a better word, narcissistic at worst. When I first met him he kept trying to ask me out on a date.”

Grey smiled at that.

“He has a sweet kid too, called Junior.” Wash shrugged, playing with the hem of his hoodie. “He’s pretty cute.”

“Tucker or his kid?” teased Grey.

Wash laughed nervously, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “Both.”

“You think you’ll take him up on that date offer, then?”

“Maybe. If he asks again.”

Grey made a noise of pride. “How exciting!”

Washington a huff of a laugh.

His therapist looking even more elated at his response. “This seems like the perfect time to lower your dosage a little, would you agree?”

Wash smile fell slightly. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I- uh, if you think so.”

The woman nodded in encouragement, although she continued. “You have been taking your medication, correct?”

There was a long pause. “I’ve been taking the antidepressants.”

“David,” she scolded. “You’re not going to start getting a proper night’s sleep if you don’t start taking the prazosin with it.”

“It makes me feel sick.”

“Well then, tell me that and I can find you something more suitable! Goodness, what is it with you veterans and letting yourself suffer?”

Wash crossed his arms.

“I’m going to lower your Zoloft prescription to 75 milligrams and we’ll see how that goes.” She jotted brief notes. “I want you to start taking the prazosin before bed. And if you’re still feeling sick by next week we’ll try something else. Feeling nauseous is a common side effect for the first couple of days, you can power through it.” Grey looked up and noticed Wash wasn’t looking at her. “You don’t agree?” she prompted.

At this Washington did meet her gaze, giving her a look.

“You don’t agree?” repeated the doctor.

Wash stared back.

“Am I frustrating you? I’m sensing some frustration.”

Wash hesitated. “Yes, you are.”

“Why am I frustrating you?”

“Because you’re acting like you know what’s best for me.”

“Only you can decide what’s best for you, David. So tell me, truthfully this time, why do you think not taking your medication is the best course of action?”

“Because I don’t want to take the fucking prazosin!” Wash wasn’t sure where that outburst had come from.

“Why do you not want to take the prazosin?”

“Because it makes me feel sick,” repeated Wash, more heatedly.

“I don’t believe you,” answered Grey, meeting her client’s tone, leaning forward. “I don’t think that’s the only reason.”

“Well, it is."

“Not, it’s not.”

Wash tightened and loosened his fists, jaw tightening. “Yes, it fucking is!”

“I don’t believe you.” Grey didn’t back down, didn’t even looked remotely fazed.

“This is stupid.” Wash stood up. “I don’t need anything to help me sleep. I don’t want to be trapped there.”

“Trapped where?”

“In the fucking nightmares!” he replied.

Grey’s eyes widened ever so slightly at the revelation, Wash breathing fast and hard as he stared at her.

“I can’t- I can’t do it anymore.”

Grey nodded in understanding, back on track. “Is it the same nightmares we’ve talked about before?”

“…Yes.”

“You’re still having them?”

“Yes.”

“Often?”

“Yes.”

Washington was defeated. His shoulders sagged and he sat back down. The couch cushions moved accommodatingly. He looked out her window and listened to the scratch of his doctor’s writing.

He was so tired.

He closed his eyes.

Grey began again. “Did you decide to bring those photos with you, like I suggested?”

Wash nodded and reached down to untie the bag, pulling out a stack of pictures protected in a plastic sandwich bag. He took them out gingerly and stared down at them.

Doctor Grey watched him. “You mind if I sit next to you?”

Wash shook his head after a moment deliberation.

The doctor crossed the small space between them and sat beside Wash on her couch, leaving a respectable gap between her and the veteran. She smiled. “Let’s start with you telling me when and where each one was taken, and then after that we can go through the more important ones in more depth.”

-

“Here’s your prescription.” It was the end of their session, Grey handing Wash a slip of paper for the pharmacy. “I think it would be therapeutic for you to put some of the pictures we looked at today in frames; hiding them away is just going to encourage you to bottle up your emotions.”

The ex-agent agreed, sheepishly managing, “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“That’s alright!” she cheered. “It’s good you’re letting yourself feel your emotions. Have you thought anymore about stopping by my group sessions again?”

Wash shook his head. “It wasn’t really my thing. I’ll see you next week.”

“Goodbye.” Emily waved her client out the door, smile bright as she went back into her office.

The pharmacy was on the way home from Doctor Grey’s office, and Washington hurried down the street to get to there as soon as possible, feeling more emotionally drained than usual after their session.

Thankful the store was empty upon entering and Wash handed over his prescription to the elderly pharmacist. “Be right back,” he said, disappearing into the back of the store.

Looking up, Washington took in a few of the decaying posters hanging above the counter, the flimsy paper looking like it had been up there for a couple of decades at least, if the eighties hairstyle on the _HIV Aware_ poster wasn’t enough of a clue.

He wandered the aisles aimlessly, looking around for the sake of looking. He came to a stop, thinking about what he should try to make for lunch. He needed to get out of the habit of lean meats and raw vegetables, he could eat what he wanted now, he wasn’t on a regimented diet. He should learn how to make lasagne, maybe he could ask Tucker if he could-

“Planning a fun night?”

He was snapped out of his inner monologue, blinking in confusion as he was greeted to the sight of one of his tanned and smiling friends-in-the-making. Donut looked as chipper as ever despite the bags under his eyes which seemed darker than the last time he had seen him, and Wash empathised. He swung a basket lightly, the contents rattling about inside:  a packet of aspirin, purple shampoo and three cans of deodorant marketed at pre-teens.

“Uh, what?” Wash said dumbly.

“I said, ‘planning a fun night’?” Donut’s grin doubled, nudging Washington’s shoulder with his own as he wiggled his waxed eyebrows, gesturing to the shelves.

Wash looked forward and felt a bout of amusement. Of course he had chosen to stand in front of the condoms. “No.” He paused, giving a half smirk. “Unfortunately.”

“That’s too bad.” Donut laughed, knocking a box of them into his basket unabashedly. “What are you doing out so early? I always thought you were more of a man of the night.”

Wash ignored the innuendo. “No, I’m usually up around this time.”

Donut looked surprised, often serving Washington at his checkout counter late into the evening. “When do you even sleep?” he joked.

“Good question,” Washington japed back, pushing worn hands into the comfort of his hoodie. “I could ask you the same.”

“Power naps,” Franklin chirped, resting a hand over his chest. “You should try them, Wash. You look exhausted every time I see you.”

“Yeah, that tends to happen when you’re an insomniac.”

“Oh.”

Wash looked back as his name was called at the counter, the floor sticky underfoot as he walked back to collect the medication and pay, wanting to get the paper bag out of sight as soon as possible. He hated the vulnerability of it, of having his problems out in the open, even if it was in front of someone as kind-hearted and understanding as Franklin.

Donut was on his heel, tone sympathetic. “Is that what your prescription’s for?”

“Yeah,” replied Wash since it was easier, pulling out money from his wallet onto the counter, dropping his duffle off his shoulder and shoving the meds inside. The strings caught and Wash had to pinch the fabric together to get it to close properly.

Donut’s eyes watched Wash, setting his shopping down in front of the cashier, the clink of the basket gentle. “Is that bag a Vietnam War one?”

Washington was surprised, straightening up. “How did you know that?”

“It looks like one of Sarge’s. His has his name on, though,” Donut replied, teasing playfully. “I didn’t realise you were _that_ old.”

“Hey- it was my dad’s,” defended Wash, crossing his arms in defence, feigning offence. The fabric had had his father’s name and number etched across it once, although it had faded away in the washing machine - it had gotten dirty and Wash’s mother hadn’t realised the ink wasn’t permanent.

Donut laughed. “I bet he was handsome.” He thanked the elderly cashier and paid by card, picking up the bag and wishing him a good morning. They walked together out of the pharmacy, Washington relieved to see the back of it for the next couple of weeks. “You doing anything fun today?” asked Donut.

Wash shook his head, looking in the direction of their apartment building. “Just going home.”

He felt a soft touch to his arm, Donut’s smile radiating up at him when he glanced back. “I still have some errands to run if you wanna come with me. I could use the company.”

Declination was on the tip of Washington’s tongue, but looking at Donut’s expression, feeling his sunny presence, it was hard to tell him ‘no’. It would probably do him good to get out of the apartment for longer than 2 hour blocks. “Sure,” he replied.

Donut made a squeal like he had agreed to be his date to the prom, linking his arm around Wash’s. “Great! I have a few letters to mail, so we can go to the post office first, then I _need_ to by Sarge a new jacket- his old one is completely tattered but he won’t listen to me! I bet if I switch them out he won’t even notice…”

Wash smiled internally as Donut guided him down the street, his chatter a nice constant. Donut told him about his parents in Iowa as he mailed his letters, explaining he was responding to a request for him to go down for a few weeks in the summer (“They live out on the ranch, they don’t have an internet connection- or even a landline!”).

Donut pulled Wash around several clothes shops, and Wash had never realised how much deliberation people put into deciding on what they were going to buy. He usually just picked the first thing off the hanger as long as it fit and it wasn’t too bright.

“Oops, I guess I ended up buying more than I thought.” Donut carried an array of shopping bags, slipping his arm back through Wash’s as they went back out onto the high street.

“You want me to carry some of those for you?” Wash offered.

“Oh no, don’t worry, Wash, I’ve carried a ton more than this. Hey, you wanna go for coffee?” Donut came to a stop outside a pleasant looking building, a small, independent kind of place.

Wash deliberated pointlessly. “Alright.”

The coffee shop looked busy, and more importantly, out of Washington’s price range. Bells jingled as Donut pushed the door, holding it open for him. Inside, Wash felt the soothing blast of air conditioning, taking in a breath of java beans and cinnamon. The place was packed, a popular destination, and Wash was unsure they were going to find a table as they joined the back of the line.

The loudness of the chatter made Wash anxious, and Donut, ever empathetic, caught on, moving up his hand to squeeze his bicep reassuringly. Washington noticed the ends of his nails were coloured white. What was it called? A something manicure?

“Oh my God.” Donut squeezed around Wash’s arm a few more times, bringing up another hand to clasp around the firmness present through the material of Wash’s hoodie, bags sliding up Donut’s arm. “Oh my God,” he repeated.

Washington was flattered; a man in the line next to them gave them a look, but Wash couldn’t find anything to do but smirk. Donut was an endless source of entertainment, his disregard for what others thought of him reminding Wash a little of Connie.

“Oh my God,” blabbered Donut for the third time in a row.

“It’s just my arm, Donut,” said Wash, fondness evident in his tone, voice wobbling in amusement.

“I just- wasn’t expecting it to be so hard!” Donut exclaimed with such a wide-eyed genuineness, Wash felt laughter bubble out of his mouth, having to pull a hand out of his hoodie pocket to cover it.

Donut laughed too, his grip loosening on Wash’s arm. “I’ve never heard you laugh before!”

“I haven’t really had anything to laugh about.”

“It’s pretty,” Donut told him. “You should laugh more often.”

“Pretty?” replied Wash incredulously. “I didn’t think laughter had a physical appearance.”

“It _sounds_ pretty.”

“Right.”

Donut looked up at the coffee house menu. “I’m gonna get a chai latte, what about you?”

“Uh… coffee?” offered Wash.

-

“So, are you coming on Saturday?”

Washington had ended up carrying Donut’s shopping for him after all, traipsing behind him as he followed him up to his apartment. “Saturday?”

“Yeah, Saturday!” Donut replied enthusiastically. “We’re having a BBQ in the garden. I made a post about it on the wall.”

Wash’s eyebrows came together, stood beside Donut as he rummaged around in his bag for his keys. “What wall?”

Donut paused as he opened his front door, looking back at the taller man. “You still don’t have Facebook, do you?”

Wash shook his head, his reply seeming to confirm something on Donut’s face. “It’s settled, then. You drop those by the door and meet me in my bedroom, I’m gonna have to teach you.”

Wash watched Donut skip ahead with wide eyes, he shook his head as he set down the bags as instructed. The hallway’s structure looked pretty much the same as his own, but the walls were plastered with a flowery wallpaper on either side. There was a chic umbrella stand by the door, a large antique mirror hung up alongside picture frames and paintings, a side table littered with papers and an artistic lamp. It was all very Donut; Wash could hardly believe Sarge lived there too.

It was a home.

He wandered forward, having a rough idea of where he was going from his past visit.

“Uh.” Wash found himself in the living room, Sarge slouched over on the sofa. He was watching what looked like a car restoration programme, lips twisted into his semi-permanent scowl.

“Two down on the left.” He spoke without looking up, tone disinterested. He was wearing a worn looking wife beater and a pair of unflattering boxer shorts. How Donut and Sarge came to be was a complete mystery to Wash, so far he had the impression they were completely different people.

Washington turned and counted the doorways, hearing movement in the described room and going inside.

The bedroom was roughly what Wash expected, open and cheery like the rest of the apartment. The sheets on the bed were a soft shade of pink, Donut currently shoving away stray clothes into draws to make the room a little more presentable.

"Come, sit." Donut gestured to a desk by the window, knocking the mouse and bringing the desktop monitor resting on top to life.

Wash sat, Donut's smile soothing any awkwardness.

"I'll just go get another chair from the kitchen. Don't touch anything until I get back!"

Wash waited patiently, watching the background of the computer change between different smiling pictures. It reminded him of his own gallery session with Grey earlier in the day.

He sat up in his chair as the picture shifted to one of a teenage Donut stood beside an equally youthful Tucker. Tucker’s arm was slung around Donut’s shoulder, a drunken gleam in their eyes as they grinned manically for the camera. They’d known each other longer than Washington had expected, the man remembering Donut's ramble about middle school.

He looked over Tucker’s image. His dreads were shorter, expression suggestive and cocky as he posed in a sweat-soaked t-shirt and turquoise jeans. He had a nose ring too, the most notably different part of his appearance.

“Alright!” Donut was back, dragging a dining chair after him. “Let’s make you a Facebook profile!”

-

“Right, now, put in your email address.”

“I don’t have an email address.”

“ _Wash._ Oh my God, you’re worse than Sarge! _”_

_-_

“So click there.”

“Okay.”

“And type in ‘Franklin Delano Donut’.”

"Del-ano?”

"D-E-L-A-N-O."

"Right."

“Look! There’s me! Now, add me!”

-

“See! Now he’s your profile picture!”

“Huh. He looks cute.”

“He does. Now, you click here for messaging. Here for your friend requests. Here for your info. And most importantly, _here_ to look at the group’s wall!”

“Okay.” Wash memorised the different areas, looking to Donut to give him a smile. “Thanks, Donut.”

He meant his words wholeheartedly, not just for showing him the basics of social media, but for the endless kindness given to him by the man every time he saw him. He had really believed he was never going to have someone to call a friend ever again, but Donut offered him just that without a second thought.

Donut retracted from where he was leaned across Wash to move the mouse, smiling back warmly. “You’re welcome.” He wrapped his arms around Wash’s shoulders and pulled the ex-solider into a hug. The angle was awkward, but David didn’t care, warmth gathering in his chest that made him want to cry. He reached a hand up to pat Donut’s shoulder, returning the affection and looking back to the screen in silence.

* * *

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Tell me what you think?
> 
> <3


	7. 07/19/20xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker re-evaluates his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [rvlakia](http://rvlakia.tumblr.com/)

It was recess at Outpost Elementary, children rushing from sticky seats to hurry out of the classroom door. Their teacher, Mrs Chorus, called for them to slow down in their madness, lips pursed in a hardened kind of tenderness for her students. The room emptied quickly and turned silent, one student remaining sat at his desk. His little hands grasped at the edges of his chair, wishing he didn’t have holes in his clothes so the other kids couldn’t make fun of him.

“It’s recess, Lavernius.” Mrs Chorus came to the front of his desk. Junior heard her, but he didn’t look up. He didn’t want to go outside with the other kids, he wanted to tell her that they all made fun of him, for it to be the end of the day so that he could go home and be with his Daddy. He wanted to tell her his name was Junior.

“I can’t leave you alone in here.” Her tone was already losing its patience.

The child was silent.

“You don’t want a minute taken off your Golden Time, do you?”

Junior didn’t care, he’d much rather have to sit out and read then have to participate in group activities. Golden Time was dumb and just another excuse for kids to tell him he was weird. He squeezed around the edges of his chair, liking the feeling of the bumpy plastic under his hands, it made him feel calmer.

“Lavernius,” she warned, crossing her arms, irate.

Doing as he was told, Junior silently got to his feet, chair scraping on the worn-out floor. He still wasn’t meeting her eyes, stomach doing anxious flips. He was mostly upset since Mrs Chorus had taken his triceratops from him earlier that morning, telling him firmly toys weren’t for school. The class had laughed at that.

“Good boy.” Mrs Chorus’ praise meant nothing to Junior, he dragged his feet along the floor, the sensation sending little spikes of soothing pleasure up inside him. He was often scolded by his teacher and told to pick up his feet for doing this, but she didn’t this time, following him outside. His Daddy never yelled at him for dragging his feet, his Daddy never yelled at him for anything, really.

The hallway was quiet, the troop of children already outside, playing. Junior watched the way the sun created shadows on the adjacent wall, the blocks of shade seeming to move as he did. Before he had a chance to slow too much he was told to hurry up, and he did, reluctantly.

Junior felt nauseous as they left the coolness of the air conditioned building, Mrs Chorus telling him to run along as she left him alone to go and stand with the other teachers.

He hated the playground, it was too noisy and people ran everywhere. He dug his hand into the pocket of his shorts; Mrs Chorus may have taken his triceratops, but he still had his velociraptor. Junior walked around the edges of the playground, making sure he didn’t get caught up in a rowdy game of tag, heading away from the other kids.

The area hidden just behind the school building was much calmer, and Junior walked towards the tree stump near the back of the field. The grass was bleached in large patches due to the scorch of the sun, reminding Junior of the hay the rabbits at the local pet shop slept on. Students were technically supposed to stay within eyesight of their teachers, but that meant being surrounded by all that noise.

The top of the tree stump was a little dirty once he reached it, Junior tracing his fingers over the rings with his free hand, disturbing the dried mud. He remembered his dad reading to him that you could tell the age a tree was before it was cut down by counting them.

He started to count the rings in his head methodically: _one-years-old, two-years-old, three-years-old, four-years-old, five-years-old, six-years-_

“What's that, Lav-in-us?” Junior froze at the familiar voice, looking back to see Kevin and his friends had followed him across the grass to the secluded area. Kevin was grinning over him, the older boy having picked Junior as his target for the year, much to Junior’s dismay and anxiety.

Junior picked up his velociraptor and tried to hide it from them behind his back, standing up to face them.

“You’re not allowed toys, Mrs Chrous said so, I’m gonna tell,” Kevin told him, stepping forward and reaching out to try and snatch the dinosaur from behind Junior’s back. “Give me it.”

Junior wriggled away, ducking away from Kevin’s hands and running face first into another boy, causing him to stumble.

“Hey!”

Junior set off into a sprint across the field, his heart in his throat. He wanted his Daddy. Someone tried to grab the back of Junior’s shirt as he approached the playground, and Junior tripped, skinning his knees on the concrete.

Junior bit back tears. Kevin grabbed his wrist, and Junior panicked when he was unable to pull it away, making a fist around his velociraptor.

“Give it to me, stupid!” Kevin was yelling. “Toys are for babies!”

Junior was scared, he couldn't get away from the older boy, impulsively turning his head and sinking his teeth into his skin.

Kevin screamed and immediately released his hold, but Junior didn't, biting down harder in frustration before Kevin managed to rip himself away.

He gripped his dinosaur tightly, stuffing the prize of his victory back into his pocket and standing up. His knees were sore from the concrete, but if Kevin’s wailing was anything to go by, he’d caused him more than just a sting. Junior wished he could feel good for making his bully cry, but instead all he felt was guilt and the taste of copper, hanging his head as Mrs Chorus stormed across the playground, furious.

-

“Grif.” Pause. “Grif.” Pause. “Grif.” Pause. “Fatass! Hey!”

Grif’s snores ended as he was shocked out of sleep, his head jerking upwards and smacking against filter fan above the cold grill he’d been sleeping on. He made a noise of pain, rubbing at the back of his head as he squinted through the order window. “Jesus, what now, Simmons?”

“We have an order.” A torn off piece of a pad was shoved through the window and handed to him.

Grif let out a groan of discontent, easily translating the messy scrawl with a glance. “Already? But we’ve only just opened.”

“We’ve been open three hours!” Simmons leaned through the window, seething. “Now shut up and make the order, our Yelp reviews can’t get any worse!”

“You need to stop reading those things, they’re not good for your health,” Grif told him, hanging up the order and switching on the grill top.

“You are not good for my health.”

Grif swept forward to place a kiss to Simmons’ scowling lips, knocking his glasses and giving a lazy smile as he dropped back down onto the heels of his feet. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately. I can’t think of any other reason I was stupid enough to marry you,” Simmons quipped back before disappearing back into the diner.

Grif actually read over the order properly once his husband had left, making a noise of annoyance when he realised what had been ordered. “Who has steak and eggs for breakfast? Selfish assholes.” He scratched at the expansive gut under his apron, fishing out a little belly button hair from his navel before proceeding to flick it at the floor.

He tipped fries into the deep fat fryer, chewing on a frozen piece of potato as he smothered a hunk of sirloin in oil and slapped it on the grill. What was the second order again? Right, strawberry pancakes. He’d start on those once the meat had cooked a little more.

The diner was a pretty sweet gig all things considered, and despite their infamous reviews on Yelp and TripAdvisor, they had a steady trickle of customers that kept the place afloat, that and Simmons always had a knack for scrimping.

They could seat forty altogether, with four booths, five tables and a small bar, although the Momona Kao, which the restaurant was named, had never come close to its capacity. Grif was the owner and chef, whilst Simmons held responsibility as manager, waiter, and since Kai had fucked off, cleaner and food runner too. Grif sighed and looked over at the family picture of the two of them at Chuck E. Cheese when they were kids, the paper grimy and tattered from wear and tear, pinned at the top of the stock board.

He still hadn’t forgiven her for walking out on his nephew the day before his first birthday, bleeding her and Tucker’s joint account dry and taking a one-way ticket out of town. Selfishness did run in the family, he supposed.

The steak looked about half done so Grif started the pancakes on a separate grill, plating them up with vanilla ice cream from the walk-in freezer, chopped up strawberries and a heaping of whipped cream. He’d just finished cracking open two eggs beside the steak when Simmons stuck his head through the window again.

Grif didn’t look up. “It’s almost done; some people can’t even wait two fucking sec-”

“There’s a call for you from Junior’s school,” Simmons interrupted, pushing his glasses up with a free hand, holding out the restaurant’s landline to him.

Grif set down his spatula and reached out to grab the phone after a quick wipe down of grease onto his stained apron. “What?” he said impatiently, pressing his ear to the receiver.

“ _Good morning, is this Dexter Grif, Lavernius’ uncle?”_

“Yeah. What are you calling me for? Is the kid okay?” Grif saw Simmons’ concern matched his own, the man remaining at the window to listen in on the call.

_“He’s fine, Mr Grif, but we need you to come into school to collect him, I’m afraid he’s been suspended for biting a pupil-”_

“And why isn’t Tucker being called about this?”

There was a pause and the teacher realised who he was talking about. _“Mr Tucker has been contacted several times, but he doesn’t seem to be answering his cell. You are Lavernius’ emergency contact, correct?”_

Grif groaned out, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked back over his shoulder at the clock on the kitchen wall, it wasn’t even noon yet. _The things I do for this family..._ “Yeah, yeah. Tell him I’m coming.”

_“You should be aware that-”_

He hung up before the administrator could say something annoying and Grif could reply with something stupid and make the situation ten times worse. It was for the best, her uppity voice having immediately started to grate on him. He passed the phone back through the window, starting to plate up before the food burned.

“Well?” Simmons asked, gripping the phone in both hands, relieved it was nothing serious from Grif’s expression.

“Junior bit a kid at school so I gotta go pick him up.” Grif replied, tipping fries out onto the plate before he finished it off with a generous helping of coleslaw, licking the back of the serving spoon before he dropped it back into the coleslaw bucket, shoving the condiment back into the fridge and shutting the door. “Tucker isn’t answering his phone.”

“He _bit_ someone?!” Simmons exclaimed, reaching out for the plates when Grif was finished, “What do you think made him do that?”

“Probably some asshole kid,” Grif returned, untying the back of his apron and turning all the knobs on the grill to kill the heat.

Simmons sighed anxiously, turning to run the food to the waiting customers. “Poor Junior.”

“Yeah.” He spoke despite Simmons having left.

They both knew Junior had a rough time at school, Tucker was always vocal about his worries whenever Junior was out of earshot, telling Grif what an exhaustive, uphill battle it was getting the child to go school every day. What made it all the more difficult was that Junior wouldn’t tell anyone why he didn’t like school, he just avoided it.

It reminded Grif of Kaikaina in a way; she had a track record of avoiding her problems until the last possible second before either choosing to blame someone else for the messy fallout or bailing completely. She had hated school too, not that they’d done much of it, it was kind of hard to when they were moving from state to state in their mother’s trailer. He sometimes wondered if his mom would still be the bearded lady of that carnival if she hadn’t keeled over and died.

Grif went out into the hall, hanging up his apron next to his unused chef’s hat. He wiped his hands down on his jeans this time, the marks he created matching stubborn grease stains on the shirt Simmons had been trying for years to replace. _Sucker_ , Grif thought, _he can’t replace what I don’t take off._

Stopping by the office, Grif snagged his car keys from the desk, remembering Junior was supposed to have a booster seat but realising he’d left it at the apartment. _Well, shit. It’s only a ten-minute drive,_ he deliberated _, he’ll be alright without it_. He pushed the door to the bar open, moving around the counter, grumbling the whole way.

He stopped by the coke machine to fill up his water bottle; he took a few chugs before he screwed the cap on. It looked hot outside, could he really be bothered to leave the comfort of the air con?

“Don’t be too long, the lunch time rush will be here soon,” Simmons warned, catching his husband as he made himself put one foot in front of the other towards the door.

“That is a joke, right, Simmons?” Grif raised an eyebrow.

Simmons pursed his lips and straightening his glasses. “Don’t be like that, business has been getting better recently.”

“If you say so,” Grif smirked, reaching out to gently knock Simmons’ glasses down his nose again. “You gonna be alright by yourself? Not gonna set off the fire alarm again whilst I’m gone?”

Simmons reddened at his teasing. “Fuck you, go get Junior.”

Grif laughed in a weird, affectionate kind of way and exited the diner. He’d left the truck unlocked, slamming the rickety door behind him as he got in. The engine started after a couple of twists of the key, Grif putting the lever in gear, pulling off down the street.

It took him longer to reach the school than he had anticipated due to the lunchtime traffic, flipping off a couple of old ladies as he overtook them, having been stuck behind them for a good five minutes. It was a warm day, the man rolling his window all the way down to feel the breeze, letting his elbow hang loosely on the edge.

Junior’s elementary was small for a city school, which meant, thankfully for Grif, it was easier to get around. Grif parked across a couple of priority spaces and cut off the exhaust, jumping out and going in the direction of the administrator’s office, the woman escorting him to the nurse’s office. The halls were full of kids, the brats giving him the side eye as they all scurried in the direction of the cafeteria.

The administrator was babbling about something or another, but Grif wasn’t paying attention, eyes searching for his nephew as he was taken into the nurse’s office.

Junior was sat on a chair much too big for him, the little boy’s feet loose above the ground. He was hunched over, teary-eyed and shaky, hands gripping the fabric of his knee-length shorts for comfort, the scrapes on his knees covered by band-aids.

“Hey, kiddo.” Grif interrupted whatever was being said to him, giving a lazy, reassuring smile to the kid.

Junior was out of his seat in a flash, rushing over to Grif and throwing his arms around his stomach. He began to cry all over again, shoulders jerking in soft sobs. Grif ran his fingers through the top of Junior’s hair awkwardly, unsure how to best comfort him. He was never one for dealing with crying adults, let alone the complications of crying children.

“We’ll be going then,” Grif said, taking one of Junior’s hands and trying to untangle him from his grip.

“The principal and Mrs Chorus would like to speak with you first, if you’d like to follow me to his office.”

“We’ll be going,” Grif repeated, managing to separate child from shirt.

The administrator pursed her lips before she smiled politely again. “Kevin and his mother would like to discuss-”

“Lady, are you listening to a word that’s coming out of my mouth? Me and the kid are going, I ain’t his dad and I certainly ain’t sitting through some teacher’s meeting, I got a job to get back to.”

“Mr Grif-”

“Call. Tucker,” Grif enunciated, leaving the nurse and the administrator alone to their comments, making his way back to the car.

Junior gripped Grif’s wrist, close by his side, already feeling better just by having a familiar, friendly presence. He felt even better when he was allowed to sit up the front of the truck without a car seat like a big boy, relieved when instead of questions, his uncle clicked on the stereo.

“How about some waffles when we get back?” Grif offered. “I’ll put on extra ice-cream if you don’t tell Simmons.”

Junior pulled the dinosaur out from his pocket. He stared at the frays at the edge of his shirt, not understanding why it was something he should be made fun of.

Grif was putting the truck into second gear, swinging out of the school car park. He glanced over; usually the promise of ice-cream at least got a smile out of the kid. “...Hey, that's one of your dinosaurs, right?”

Junior nodded demurely. He wanted Tucker.

“How ‘bout I make you some dinosaur pancakes? Would you like that, kid?” Grif glanced over at his nephew again, feeling further defeat at his lack of reaction. Food was always Grif’s fall-back to fix a situation; if Junior wasn’t cheered by it, he didn’t know what else to suggest.

They returned to the Momona Kao to the sound of Grif’s CDs, Grif taking Junior’s hand so they could cross the street back to the restaurant. It was unsurprisingly empty, Simmons standing behind the bar on his phone, thinking he was being discreet.

“Hey, Junior.” Simmons smiled. “Why don’t you go get sat down at a booth and I’ll get you some colouring and a milkshake?”

Junior just nodded, letting go of his uncle’s tattooed fingers and doing as he was told.

“I wish I got greetings like that,” Grif said.

“Maybe try not being an insufferable jackass and you might get one,” Simmons chirped back, noticing Grif was empty-handed. “Where’s Junior’s bag, did you leave it in the truck?”

“…His bag? They didn’t give me a bag.”

Simmons put his hands on his hips. “You left his bag at school.”

“How was I supposed to know he had a bag? You’re acting like I forgot something important!” Grif replied.

“It is important, Grif, it’ll have all of his school stuff in it. Probably his lunch too.” Simmons shook his head. “You should go back and get it.”

“Like fuck! It’s like a hundred degrees outside and I am not driving all the way out there again.”

“Well, it’s your fault! You left it!”

“This is not my fault, if it was this big a deal his teacher would have given it to me.”

Junior watched them bicker back and forth from the worn leather of his seat. He set down his velociraptor and rested his cheek against the table, looking out the window. He named the colours of the cars going by in his head, his uncles’ arguments common.

“Fucking- fucking whatever! I’m going out back for a smoke.” Grif finished the argument with a flail of his arms, ignoring Simmons huffing as he disappeared into the back.

Simmons slammed about the bar, muttering angrily under his breath as he blended ice-cream and milk together, adding extra whipped cream and chocolate sauce since it was for Junior. He had calmed by the time he brought over the milkshake, the little boy sitting straight at his arrival.

“These are the only colours I could find.” He spoke apologetically, setting down a handful of broken crayons and a pile of blank printer paper, putting the milkshake glass on top of a dirty napkin.

Junior shrugged and Simmons slid into the booth opposite.

“You wanna talk about what happened?” Simmons queried, wanting to ask despite already knowing the answer.

Junior shook his head expectedly, looking back out the window.

Simmons drummed his fingers. He took a breath. “…You know, I used to get bullied too. At school. And at home too. You’re lucky you have a dad who cares so much about you. All of us care about you, Junior. What I’m trying to say is that it’s okay to be upset, and- and you can tell us what’s happening so we can help fix it. We can’t help if you don’t tell us what’s wrong.”

The child moved to grab a piece of paper and a red crayon.

“Okay.” Simmons took off his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt. “I’m gonna try calling Tucker again, but I think you’re going to be stuck here all day, so tell me if you get tired and you can go take a nap in the office.”

After scribbling a couple of red lines, Junior moved onto the colour purple. Sighing and getting up, Simmons left him to it.

-

“Ah, shit- It’s really fucking busted,” Tucker complained, smacking his mobile against his palm, the screen flickering on briefly, littered with black lines, before it disappeared.

The pair were walking across the street to the adjacent gas station so Tucker could grab his lunch and Felix could buy a packet of cigarettes. Tucker’s hair was tied up, the bandana around his forehead damp from a mixture of sweat and suds, just like the front of his shirt. Felix, impressively, had managed to avoid most of the spray, less haphazard with his cleaning.

“I do not have money for a new phone, dude.”

“You’ve said.” Felix really couldn’t care less, face impassive. The taller had been repeating the same fucking thing all morning ever since Palomo had knocked Tucker’s cellphone off the top of a car and into a bucket of water, and Felix was reaching the point where he wanted to push Tucker’s face into a bucket of suds too, until he stopped moving.

They went inside and Tucker was the first through the automatic doors, sighing at the pleasure of air conditioning. It was nice to be out of the sun.

“Kimball really needs to invest in some of this in the staff room, the fan’s like a pathetic hand job,” Tucker continued to complain, as if Felix was actually paying attention to his pathetic woes. “You’ve been pretty quiet today, something going on?”

Felix bared a smile that didn’t meet the eyes, joining the back of the line with Tucker for the cashier. “No, just thinking about all the stuff I could be doing if I wasn’t stuck here with you.”

“Ouch.” Tucker grinned back, trying to joke his way through Felix’s awkward bluntness. He continued smacking his phone, giving up when the screen stopping lighting up altogether. “Great. Wash’s gonna think I’m ignoring him.”

“Who?” Felix’s ears pricked, Tucker managing to capture his attention.

Tucker rose an eyebrow at Felix’s sudden interest. “Washington. He’s this guy I’m talking to at the moment.”

“Talking to?” Felix smirked, stepping forward every so often as the queue shortened.

“Yeah, talking to, don’t be an asshole,” Tucker bit back. “He lives down the hall, I invited him over for dinner tomorrow.”

“You got a picture?”

“No, I’ve only known him a week, and even if I did, my phone is fucked, have you not being keeping track?”

“Oh my God, do you ever stop _whining?_ ”

“Hey, I don’t _whine_ , I bitch, there’s a difference.”

“Fuck you,” Felix said with a little too much malice.

Tucker just grinned. “I think stuff might really work out between us; I mean, Junior seems to really like him, and if I play it right, I could end up dating him and getting the money.”

“Money? I didn’t realise you were a gigolo.”

“Nah, dude, at least, not anymore.” Tucker waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “If I’m being honest, he’s not really my usual type, he looks a lot older than me, but I think it’s mostly just stress.”

“Wow, he sounds super appealing.”

Tucker had to snort. “Yeah… I only really started talking to him cause of this bet me and Church made. Church has fucked off to God knows where though, so I’m not even sure it’s still happening.”

“A bet?”

“Yeah.” Tucker felt a little shitty admitting it, but he didn’t show it on his face. “If I’ve slept with him by the end of the month I get three hundred dollars.”

Felix looked absolutely delighted at the concept, letting out a laugh. “Man, that is fucking amazing, he must be dog-fucking-ugly if you’re getting that much for sticking your dick in him.”

“He’s not, shut up!”

Felix laughed hysterically and turned to the cashier as they reached the front. “Hey, baby, two packs of Marlboros, make it quick.”

After lunch it was back to work, but the afternoon dragged terribly, a trickle of customers coming in every now and again. Kimball ended up sending people home early, Tucker and Andersmith keeping each other company as they waited for the clock to hit three.

Andersmith gave Tucker a nod and left, Tucker waiting behind as Kimball locked up.

“What is it, Tucker?” Kimball asked when she sensed the man still hadn’t left yet.

Tucker grinned. “Can’t an employee see how his boss is doing?”

“Ha, ha. Cut the shit, what do you want?”

He kept up the grin but shifted a little. “I was just wondering is all if it’d be cool if I did a shift or two the next couple of weekends?”

Kimball let out a long sigh and closed her eyes. “Tucker. The rotas are already full, you’ll have to ask and see if anyone-”

“I know, I know. I’m just a little short of cash and I wanted to get Junior some new clothes-”

“Stop. Just stop, Tucker.” Kimball held up her hand to stop him. “I want to help you and your kid, I really do, but this is getting stupid.”

“Stupid? Wanting to provide for my family is stupid?”

“Providing for your family?” Kimball let out a laugh of disbelief. “Please. Do you think I’m an idiot? I bend over backwards for you so you can waste your pay check getting wasted every other week.”

Tucker’s chest tightened, automatically defensive. “What I do with my money is nothing to do with you.”

Kimball’s arm dropped to her side, keys jiggling lightly. Her eyes narrowed, pointing at Tucker as she hissed, “If it’s nothing to do with me, then stop asking for shifts you know I can’t afford.”

Tucker was silent.

“You give me excuses after excuses, and I’m honestly surprised I let you get away with the shit you do. If your son really meant that much to you, you’d prioritise.”

Tucker felt chilled to the core, numbly turning as he left Kimball alone to lock up the office before she could apologise. He knew he went out a little more than he should, but he had never really thought about it like _that_ before. Was he really being that selfish? He needed those nights out to keep himself sane.

He found himself dragging his feet along the pavement, a childhood habit that resurfaced every now again in fatigue or sadness. Tucker’s legs ached from a long day, looking forward to getting Junior to bed as quickly as possible so he could take a long bubble bath and sleep. He frowned as Kimball’s words continued to cut through him even as he tried to distract his mind. _If your son really meant that much to you, you’d prioritise._

Tucker reached the playground ten minutes late, mentally deducting another five points off his Good Dad score. At least he wouldn’t have to face the other parents, some days their stares were just too much, and even his most charismatic bravados didn’t make him feel better.

He was confused when Junior didn’t come running out from the school building, going inside and walking the halls to Junior’s classroom to see if he was there instead. What he discovered was a room empty of children, Mrs Chorus sat at her desk, marking. Tucker opened the door, catching her attention. “Where’s Junior?” He thought he did a good job of keeping the panic out of his voice.

“Mr Tucker, we’ve being trying to contact you all day-”

“Is he hurt? Is he okay? Where is he?” Tucker hurried forward.

“Calm down.” Mrs Chorus replied, standing up from her chair. “Lavernius is fine, his uncle came to pick him.”

Tucker pushed his bandana up with his hand, shoulders sagging. “What happened?”

“That’s what we need to talk about. He’s been suspended for biting another student at recess this morning.”

Tucker stared in disbelief. Of all the things Tucker could have imagined her to say, Junior biting someone was the last thing on the list.

“How long for?” was all he managed.

“A week.”

Tucker wanted to put his head in his hands and cry.

-

Sometimes, when Tucker wasn’t daydreaming about shallow desires, he liked to imagine a different life for himself, one where he hadn’t screwed everything up and thrown away his future. He could have stayed in school, been the first in his family to go to university, scored himself a good paying job and found somewhere decent to live. Junior still existed in this timeline, of course, because Junior meant the world to him, but he’d have had him with someone he could depend on, after he’d lived his life a little first. Be a person his parents could be proud of.

That reality was far from the present, Tucker walking downtown with Junior’s schoolbag in his hand and his workbag slung over his shoulder, the dampness of his socks more noticeable with every step he made. He needed a break, he needed to look after _Tucker_ for once. No, that was selfish, he couldn’t even pretend it wasn’t, because it was, Tucker always looked after Tucker. Tucker wanted his best friend, where the fuck was Church when you needed him?

The Momona Kao came into view, the man walking alongside the large window pane and looking into the first row of tables, stopping by the booth where he saw his son drawing. He watched him, the sun already starting to set, eyes catching the reflection the change of light created.

He barely recognised himself these days; it wasn’t the Tucker he wanted to see, the reflection’s face tired, stressed and sad. His life choices were finally starting to catch up with him, he guessed.

Since when did Lavernius Tucker let responsibilities hold him down? He’d always been the cool guy, the friend with no worries, the one everyone else wanted to be, the one who went to all the parties, kissed all the girls, took the drugs, had fun whilst everyone else was busy being square. He couldn’t have it all, not anymore.

It was killing him. Juggling a job and rent was hard enough, but a kid too? A social life? He was twenty-one, for fuck’s sake, didn’t he deserve some fun? Kimball was right, he was going to have to choose. Himself or Junior?

Junior looked up, sensing he was being watched, blue eyes widening at the sight of Tucker, dropping his crayon. His bottom lip wobbled. Tucker forced a reassuring smile.

There was no competition; he knew the answer to the question before he even had the chance to ask it.

Tucker pushed open the front door, bell jingling behind him as he jogged across the restaurant towards him. Junior jumped down, throwing himself forward at his dad, Tucker scooping the little boy up into his arms to hug him.

“I’m so, so, so sorry, little man. My phone was broken and I- I didn’t know…” Tucker trailed off when he realised he wasn’t being listened to, Junior having worked himself up into tears again. He hushed Junior’s ugly sobs and moved to the booth where he had been colouring. He sat his son in his lap, broad palm rubbing gentle circles into his back, letting Junior grab at his hair and rub his face against his neck.

“Daddy,” he whimpered, the word wobbling pathetically.

He was the worst father in the entire fucking world. Junior had needed him and he hadn’t been there, he’d spent the entire journey over here thinking about himself instead of his child. He was such a fucking screw up. Tucker rocked Junior slowly, ignoring the pointed look the elderly couple at the table opposite were giving them.

Simmons had watched Tucker come into the diner and went to fetch Grif, the man coming out of the kitchen to give Tucker a piece of his mind for having made Grif have to deal with this bullshit.

“And where the fuck have you been all day?” he began when he reached the table, his anger ceasing when he saw the distress on Tucker’s face.

“I’m sorry,” was all Tucker said, rubbing under his own eyes roughly as he tried to keep himself from crying too. He’d been having a really rough week.

“Come on, let’s go sit in the back.” Grif recognised it wasn’t the time to be his general cunt self, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards the kitchen doors so they’d have a little more privacy. “I’ll give you a lift after we close.”

“Thanks, dude.” Tucker was so tired, carrying his son and his self-loathing through the restaurant and into Simmons’ stuffy office. He wondered what Wash would think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More tuckington next chapter I promise.
> 
> Happy Christmas, don't do anything Tucker wouldn't do.
> 
> Remember, you're someone's reason to mastrubate. :)


	8. 07/20/20xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash and Tucker have dinner. It's totally not a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [rvlakia](http://rvlakia.tumblr.com/)

“Man, this has to have been the worst mission ever. Of all time,” Wash complained. He didn’t even have to look to sense Maine’s agreement, flexing his grip on his assault rifle.

The merciless sun was finally starting to set, and the red sand was cooling with it, Wash hoping for a breeze to soothe the sunburn on the back of his neck. His legs ached and his back was sore, feeling for his water canister and quenching some of the thirst the dry environment created. He held out the canister to Maine, who declined with a single shake of his head.

Washington screwed the top back on, glancing over his shoulder into the shack where the rest of his team (minus Carolina, who had yet to leave the prisoner’s side) were dicking about.

“This is bullshit,” Wash said. “They make us stand out here for fucking hours while they’re in there out of this fucking sun. What are we even guarding for, Maine? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

Maine smirked.

“I’m glad at least you think us being out here in the blazing sun is funny.”

Maine looked ahead again across the empty plain, tire tracks embedded into the sand from the jeeps they’d used to drive there in.

“Hey!” York poked his head out a smashed out window. “Me and Wyoming found some potatoes and we’re gonna try and make French fries. You want some?”

“You’re joking, right? Me and Maine got to stand out here while you and Wyoming make French fries?”

York grinned. “Hey, Carolina made the order, not me, rookie.”

Wash rolled his eyes; even after all these years they were still calling him _rookie_. “I’m going for a piss.” He started to take off the strap of his rifle, the heavy machinery digging painfully into his shoulder blade, even if he was adept at numbing himself to it.

“You’re gonna leave us again, Wash?” It was Connie’s voice, but Maine was the one speaking, no longer adjacent to Wash, but directly opposite.

Washington flinched. He replied dumbly, “What?”  

_“He said,” North was speaking now, but it was from York’s mouth, his expression still wide and smiling, “are you gonna leave us again, Wash?”_

_A hand appeared on Agent Washington’s shoulder, and he tried to cringe away from it, but it held him in place. He tried to turn his head to see who it was, but he couldn’t, there’s no one there, but if there was no one there, why couldn’t he move?_

_In an instant, his friends fell away like cut outs in a play, leaving Agent Washington alone in the dying light._

_“Maine?” he called out. “York?”_

_Agent Washington looked around, breathing beginning to tighten. He gripped his hands into fists and realised he was holding the jeep’s keys. Help. He needed to find help. He tried to run for the cars, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t reach them. He ran and ran and ran, but the sand just shifted underneath him, keeping him trapped there._

_“Are you running from us again, Wash?” Carolina’s voice caressed his ears. “Why won’t you help us?”_

_The landscape flicked to black, silent other than Washington’s shaky breaths, his surroundings devoid of anything other than the doorway to the shack, its curtain whipping about in a non-existent wind. Washington stepped forward and the ground wobbled like water, his footsteps sounding like shoe on marble._

_He wanted to close his eyes but they stayed open, he wanted to run away but his body made him walk forward._

_“No, no, no, no, no…” Agent Washington begged. “Not again, no, please, not again.”_

_The confrontation of the carnage hit Washington as hard as it always did, the blood on the floor and the walls, his team’s lifeless bodies, brain matter spewed from the backs of heads, oesophagus’ ripped from throats, Connecticut’s heart-wrenching sobs as she stared up at Washington in helpless confusion, the light fading from her eyes as she cradled her intestines in her arms._

_Their deaths had all been so unnecessarily cruel._

_Maine. He ran to Maine, floor squelching wetly under his knees, cradling his unseeing face with his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”_

_Maine’s eyes snapped open and he sat up, all of them did, and before Washington’s could speak Maine had his hands around his throat, throwing him backwards, the man skidding into their blood._

_“Traitor!” Wyoming yelled._

_“Kill him!” chimed in South._

_“Killing’s too good for him,” York argued back._

_“You left us to die, you fucking coward!” Connie spoke next._

_Washington tried to get up onto his hands and knees, but Carolina kicked him in the gut before he was able to, sending him flying onto his back. He was winded._

_North spat in his face, and all Washington could form was noises of distress, tears blinding his vision._

_Maine was stood over him now, pointing the barrel of a handgun at his face, finger twitching on its trigger._

_“M… Ma… Maine,” Agent Washington pleaded._

_‘Coward,’ was all Maine signed before he pulled the trigger._

Downtown, in his small bedroom in a seedy apartment building he now called home, Wash sat up with a start, sucking in a desperate breath of air before promptly bursting into tears. He went to muffle the noise using the back of his hand, guilt churning in his stomach as his team’s words circled around his head like vultures.

Tears running down his cheeks, he hoped no one in the adjoining apartments had heard him. He cried way too much for a normal person of his age, he knew this, and it frustrated him how pathetic it made him feel.

He picked up his bottle of meds from the side table and threw them across the room, it feeling good to lash out. He picked up his lamp next, the piece of furniture about to follow after it before Wash realised what a bad idea trashing his apartment was.

Setting the lamp back down, he apologised quietly to Skyler who was currently looking terrified at his feet, lifting her up and stroking the side of her face reassuringly. His cries trailed off, and Wash got up, deciding he might as well start his run early. He needed the distraction.

Washington used to like to run to the sound of the beat, he’d go to the gym with York and North, plug in his ear phones and set his running playlist on shuffle. He’d run on the treadmill, most likely be convinced onto the rowing machine by North and end on some weight lifting.

After The Mission anything that flawed Wash’s ability to be aware of his surroundings made him nervous, so his iPod stayed locked away at the bottom of a draw somewhere and his gym membership stayed cancelled.

“Wash, hey!”

Wash slowed his pace, having been just about to step out into the road to go around a businessman walking to his car. He recognised the voice immediately, and already he could feel the beginning of a smile on his lips.

He looked behind to see Donut speeding up his pace to catch up to him, name tag bouncing on his uniform with every step he took. He waved, swinging a bag by his side.

“Morning,” Wash greeted, wiping a hand across his sweating forehead, the cool morning air feeling nice on his face.

“Good morning!” Donut chirped back.

“Did you just get off your shift?” Washington asked, amazed as always at Donut’s unrelenting positivity even at five thirty in the morning.

“Yup,” Donut smiled, “just getting home. You going back too?” he asked since Washington had been running in that direction.

Wash nodded, starting to walk with Donut, his breaths becoming easier to take.

“Have you tried this?” Donut bubbled, shaking a bottle of green liquid in Wash’s face. “It’s amazing, it’s called green juice and it has changed my life.”

Wash shook his head. “No. And ’Green Juice’ doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

Donut giggled. “It’s just veggies, Wash. I’m doing a juice cleanse, it’s supposed to flush out all the bad stuff from your body and make you a brand new you! Here, have some.” Before Wash could form any reply the bottle was unscrewed and under his nose.

He took a drink and passed it back, deciding. “It just tastes like a health smoothie but more watery.”

“Isn’t it good?” Donut insisted.

Wash thought Donut was probably making himself like it more than he actually liked it, but humoured him with a nod. Donut screwed the cap back on his bottle.

“You must be boiling in that thing,” Donut commented, tugging at the sleeve of Wash’s hoodie affectionately.

“A little,” Wash admitted, although he felt better wearing it than without.

Donut released his sleeve. “You doing anything fun today?”

“I’m having dinner at Tucker’s place later, actually.”

Donut almost stopped on the spot. “ _Since when?_ ”

“Since yesterday when he asked me,” Wash replied.

“Like a date? Oh my God, please tell me it’s a date. You guys would look so cute together. This is just filling me up with so much good stuff I can hardly take it!”

“I don’t think it’s a date, Donut.”

“But there’s a possibility?” Donut clung to his fantasy.

Wash hesitated. “I mean…”

“You like Tucker!” Donut finished the sentence with a squeal.

Washington fought embarrassment, trying to appear the diplomat. “I don’t think there’s anyone I particularly dislike that lives here.”

Donut’s smile doubled.

The street was quieter than usual, a few cars driving by every so often. Conversation with Franklin flowed easily, and they reached Blood Gulch Apartments before they knew it. Inside, Wash stopped by his mailbox, and Donut used the opportunity to disappear into Sarge’s office for a few minutes. Wash could hear the two of them talking, although exactly what they were saying was lost on him.

The door reopened, Donut backing out. “We’ll talk later,” he said, blowing a kiss into the room before he turned back around.

Donut gave Wash a bright smile, glad he hadn’t disappeared. “Wanna come upstairs?”

“I’d like to, but I gotta feed my cats,” Wash explained, apologetic.

“Can I meet them?” Donut followed after him.

Wash looked back in surprise. “Uh, sure,” he agreed, not feeling pressured into Donut’s presence.

He walked with Donut up the stairs, pulling out his keys, which Donut commented on, of course, (“Are those little kitties? Cute!”) before Wash reached and unlocked his front door. He pushed it open with his palm, stepping aside for Donut to go in first.

At the sound of their entrance, Ari and Skyler were already in the hall, peering up at the new visitor.

“Hello, kitties!” Donut squatted down to pet them, the pair greeting him with their usual, unrelenting affection. “Oh, they’re so friendly! Hi! Hi!” he looked over his shoulder. “This one is Ari, right? The one I met before?”

“Yeah.” Wash shut the door and shuffled around Donut, the hallway narrow. He unzipped his hoodie.

“And the other one?”

“Skyler,” he answered, leaning down to stroke a hand through Skyler’s tortoiseshell coat. “Epsilon will probably be on top of the fridge or my wardrobe.”

“Can I meet her too?”

“He doesn’t really like people,” Wash shared before Donut could get too excited, feeling a little exposed having someone inside his apartment. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Can I get you something to drink?-”

“Maybe he can-” They spoke simultaneously, interrupting one another.

“Sorry,” Wash apologised, gesturing with his hand. “You go first.”

Donut came up from his crouch. “I was just gonna say: ‘maybe he can learn to like me’.”

“You can try, but don’t come crying to me when he bites you,” Wash replied with a small smirk, taking off his hoodie and throwing it into his washing basket in an adjacent cupboard.

“You should wear short-sleeves more often,” Donut told him, passing his handbag back and forth between his hands idly.

“Stop it,” Wash chastised, although he was smiling.

Donut smiled back innocently. “Stop what?”

“Saying stuff like that.”

“You mean, the truth?”

Wash shook his head fondly, gaze averted, and gestured for Donut to follow him into the kitchen where he got him a drink and fed his cats, then the two sat at his kitchen table together. Skyler had disappeared but Ari decided to stick around, rubbing her body up against Wash’s legs under the table every so often, purr lazy.

“Have you made anything for tomorrow?” Donut started up a conversation again before the situation could even approach a point of awkwardness.

“Tomorrow?”

Donut sighed in feigned annoyance and stood up. “Where is your calendar? You are not getting out of this one, mister.”

-

Wash stood under the blast of his shower, rinsing suds out of his hair, watching water swirl down the drain at his feet. He cut off the pressure, letting water drain from his body before he stepped out, pushing aside the shower curtain.

The man wrapped a towel around his waist, smile pulling at his mouth when he saw Ari perched on the sink. He cracked on the tap so she could drink from the drip, wiping his hand across the mirrored cupboard so he could see his reflection.

He opened the cupboard, rattling a couple pills into his palm and brushing his teeth. His mind was stuck between Maine and his date(?). He was feeling a little guilty about the whole thing, like he was betraying Maine somehow by allowing himself to move on.

Getting dressed, Wash kept the towel over his head to dry his hair more thoroughly, pottering through in the direction of his kitchen to feed the cats since he’d be leaving soon and wasn’t sure when he’d return.

He saw the Internet Explorer tab on his computer flashing at a glance into his living room, his towel dampened from it being rubbed through his locks. He crossed his living room to open up the message he’d received.

* * *

****   


* * *

 

Wash clicked off the computer at the wall, letting out a breath and stopping by the bathroom for the third time to check his breath and run his fingers through his hair, the uneven colouring bothering him more than he’d admit. It was still a little damp, and Wash hadn’t invested in a hair drier, so it was going to stay that way.

Should he bring something with him? It would probably be rude not to. The man rummaged around the cupboards in his kitchen and found a bottle of wine he couldn’t remember buying, deciding it would do. Tucker definitely didn’t seem picky when it came to his alcohol.

After some further hesitation in his bedroom, he discarded the hoodies he’d been going through. If he was going out of his comfort zone this much, he might as well forgo the safety blanket his hoodies had become too. Doctor Grey would be proud.

He stopped by the stack of photographs on top of his drawers, resting a hand over the top one for a few moments over the smiling faces. They all would want him to move on, to be happy. Maine would want him to be happy too. The only enemy in this situation was himself; the only threat present in this situation was one he was creating in his mind.

Closing his eyes, he breathed in and out, leaving the apartment before he could change his mind. He had to force himself to walk steadily to Tucker’s door, willing himself to calm down.

Wash was getting worked up, and it was irritating him. It wasn’t like it was a proper date. His fingers clasped around the bottle in his hand, knowing he was kidding himself. When was the last time he’d taken a bottle of wine to something that _wasn’t_ a date?

Tucker liked him, that much was obvious, and Wash was beginning to like him too.

He cleared his throat, knocking at Tucker’s door.

Tucker didn’t take very long, throwing open the door with a smile. He looked good, freshly shaven with his dreads hanging loose for once, a few silver beads threaded here and there. This first thing Washington noticed were the thick, black frames on his nose. “Hey, Wash.”

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” was out of Wash’s mouth before he could stop it.

Tucker shifted the glasses self-consciously with his thumb and forefinger, feigning a causal aura as he leaned against his doorway. “These? I know, they’re pretty dorky, right? The little man knocked my contact case into the toilet so I’m stuck with them.” Tucker was internally cursing himself for forgetting to take them off before he answered the door, having been too excited to remember.

“They’re not dorky.” Wash was quick to reply, feeling as though he had upset Tucker unintentionally. “I like them, they suit you. They bring out your eyes, actually.”

Tucker’s smile became more genuine, his whole face becoming part of the smile rather than just his lips. “And here I thought I was the charmer here.”

That made Wash’s stomach flip a little. “That’s- That came out different than what I had-”

Tucker laughed at his flustered stammer, interrupting. “Come in, Wash.”

Wash rubbed a hand through his hair a few times, coming inside, Tucker shutting the door behind them. “…I brought this.”

“Wine?” Tucker grinned, taking the bottle off him. “You’re making me feel like a grown-up, dude. Go sit in the living room and I’ll go get some glasses.” He disappeared. “You look good without that ugly-ass hoodie, by the way!” Tucker called from the kitchen in afterthought, Washington smiling as he went to sit down.

Tucker wasn’t very long, but in the time Wash was alone he noticed the room looked tidier than usual, all of Junior’s toys gone; in fact, there was no indication of Junior at all.

“Where’s Junior?” Wash asked Tucker when he came back, taking the wine glass from his hand, deliberately ignoring how nice the brush of their hands felt at the interaction.

“It’s weird.” Tucker launched into a story, flopping down. “Him and Donut sometimes have these ‘slumber parties’, but they stopped recently after Donut got stuck with night shifts, but this afternoon he turned up asking Junior if he wanted to have one again, so he’s upstairs. He’ll bring him home a little later.”

“He doesn’t spend the night?” said Wash, hiding back a smile, easily connecting the dots over what Franklin was doing, trying to interfere and get them alone together.

“I wish,” Tucker replied. “I haven’t gone a single night in five and a half years without the kid waking up and making me sleep with him, he’s a massive baby.”

Wash made a noise of amusement.

“It’s honestly a miracle he likes Donut enough to be alone with him at all for more than two hours.”

“I think Donut has a way of convincing anyone to like him.”

Tucker smiled at the sentiment. “Sure, but I’d say he’s had a fair few people it hasn’t worked on.”

“Like?”

“Well, I first met him in middle school when he’d moved up to the city with one of his sisters, and if you think he’s overbearing now… Jesus, dude, he was _unbearable_. Church fucking despised him, didn’t want him to have anything to do with us, especially since we already had a Caboose to deal with-”

“A Caboose?” Washington interrupted.

“You haven’t met Caboose?!” Tucker exclaimed, ending with a laugh. “Wash, just you wait until I introduce you guys tomorrow.”

Wash wasn’t sure if he had reason to be worried, but before he could air anymore questions, Tucker was back on track.

“Anyway, as I was saying, Donut can get kinda annoying after a while, and since he hadn’t had his deafness diagnosed then, he used to talk really loud, like louder than Church, like you could even hear him across the cafeteria yelling about bullshit that no one cared about. And the way he dressed-” a snort, “Wait here, I’m gonna show you, okay?” Tucker jumped up, setting down his glass.

Wash watched him go, drinking idly with his thoughts as Tucker rummaged around in the other room. He came back, carrying his middle school yearbook with him. Tucker snickered to himself a couple of times as he flicked through the pages, finding Donut’s picture to show to Wash.

It was undoubtedly unflattering, but then again, wasn’t everyone’s school pictures?

“He’d told me he used to wear a lot of fake tan,” Wash commented, amused but not finding it as hysterical as Tucker did.

“Honestly, it doesn’t do it justice.” Tucker moved to settle on his knees, visibly more comfortable. “It’s a shame we weren’t that close until high school, I would have probably have better pictures.” He reached for the wine bottle, refilling his glass.

“I didn’t know he was deaf.” Wash attempted to change the subject. Ridiculing someone’s physical appearance didn’t really do anything for him, not that he’d ever really been in a situation where looks really counted for anything, ignoring the minimal amount of school he attended.

Tucker was flexible, accommodating the change. “Only partially. He saved up forever to get these hearing aids you just push in your ears.” He poked a finger in his own ear lightly, snapping his year book shut afterwards. “He’ll be completely deaf by the time he gets to your age, though.” Of course Tucker couldn’t resist jabbing in a tease at the end.

Wash narrowed his eyes. “And how old do you think I am, Tucker?”

Tucker hid behind his glass in mischief. He hummed. “At _least_ sixty.”

“I’ll have you know I’m practically half that,” he scoffed.

“No way, you’re only thirty?!” Tucker’s eyes widened.

Wash couldn’t find it in him to be offended. Tucker had had too much to drink to find an apology.

“Thirty-two,” Wash informed.

“It’s- it’s just you look way too stressed out all the time to be that young.”

“Isn’t everyone stressed?”

“Yeah, but you can see yours in your face.” Tucker was obliviously insensitive. “Probably ‘cause you were in the army. Sarge is like that too.”

“I like to think I look a little bit younger than Sarge.”

“Hell yeah, dude. Much better looking too. I’d tap that.” Tucker wiggled his eyebrows.

“Does Donut know ASL?” Wash tried to get away from the giddy tightness in his chest Tucker’s flirting caused.

“A little, he’d started going to this evening course at the college nearby,” Tucker shared. “He was gonna take Junior too, back when he looked after him for me.”

“Like a childminder?”

“Yeah, Donut used to look after him for me all the time whilst I was at work after his mom left.” Tucker took a sip. “I paid him, duh, and he and Junior are pretty close because of it.”

Wash liked talking with Tucker better when he was being himself.

“I wish we’d started teaching Junior sign back then, it would make life a lot easier,” he continued, “but this, er… not a social worker, but like someone who knows shit about kids, did this assessment and told us not to substitute it for speaking ‘cause it’d take him longer to learn or whatever. I shouldn’t have listened, but I was a kid too, and she sounded like she knew what she was on about, y’know?”

Wash nodded in understanding. He’d trusted in authority once too. “I could help you teach him, if you want me to.”

“You know ASL?” Tucker straightened.

“Sure.” Wash bore the throb of pain the connected memory caused with a smile.

“That would be frigging awesome, dude!” Tucker grinned back, moving up onto his knees. “I was looking at me and the little dude going somewhere to learn it, but it’s just so much money and I’m behind on rent as it is.”

“You’re behind on rent?” Washington was surprised.

“Ugh, yeah.” Tucker groaned, rubbing a hand over his face and taking a few more, longer drinks. “We’d probably be kicked out by now if it weren’t for Donut. Junior is having problems with school and I end up having to keep taking days off work to look after him. I’m really getting on my boss’ tits, I can tell,” he smirked, ending with a quiet little, “ _bow-chicka-bow-wow_ _._ ”

Wash rolled his eyes, although was troubled by the news that Tucker was struggling.

“Still, I’m not gonna lie,” Tucker’s expression became a bit more serious again, “it’s pretty serious, and I know I shouldn’t be getting angry with Junior over it, cause it ain’t his fault, but it’s hard when he keeps losing me jobs ‘cause he can’t go a day without me being with him.”

Wash listened.

Sighing, Tucker leaned on a hand, elbow on the edge of the couch. “At least I should be thankful he’s easy to look after, according to everyone but his mom anyway.”

“He’s different for her?” Wash guessed.

“Nah. I think Kai just doesn’t like looking after anyone but herself.” Tucker tried not to sound too bitter.

Wash tilted his head in curiosity. “Kai? Is that her name?”

The atmosphere seemed to shift. “Uh, yeah. She was put into my grade in Junior High. Me, her and Donut used to go to raves together. Grif, her brother, used to make fake IDs for us,” he said in memory, swirling the alcohol around in his glass, no longer meeting Wash’s eye. “…I don’t really like to talk about her too much.”

Wash knew that feeling too well, leaving the subject alone. They drifted into silence, Tucker tapping at the bottom of his glass with his thumb, Washington playing with a loose thread on his shirt.

“You gonna show me your yearbook picture?” Wash was determined not to let it teeter into awkwardness, nodding to the discarded book on the coffee table. “I saw a pretty incriminating photo of you at Donut’s with a nose ring.”

Tucker’s grin came back. “Fuck off, dude.”

-

They talked so long that Tucker’s chicken wings burned in the oven and his vegetables over boiled and turned stringy in their pans on the stove. Tucker attempted to rectify the situation as best he could, but all of the food he’d prepared was lost to an inedible state.

Refusing to admit defeat, Tucker raided beers from the back of his fridge and dragged Wash into the kitchen to help put together a meal of turkey dinosaurs, ready-made mash potatoes and microwavable garden peas.

“The potatoes were good,” Wash attempted as reconciliation when they were finished. It was the end of the evening, and they were saying their goodbyes, the older man’s face a little flushed from how much he’d laughed at Tucker’s drunken antics in the kitchen.

“Thanks.” Tucker brushed a few dreads out his face. “You know, you’re a lot cooler than I thought you’d be, Wash.”

Wash looked tired as he smiled, but the calm contentment on his face was impossible to fake. He deflected the compliment. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Tucker.”

“Wait.” Tucker grabbed Wash’s arm. He stared up at the man a few moments before pressing up onto the balls of his feet to give him a quick, chaste kiss. Tucker wasn’t even aware he was capable of kissing someone without a spark of sexual charge, but Wash brought out this different person within him.

Surprising both of them, Washington leaned down to meet Tucker’s lips again in a more drawn out embrace, mouth sliding against the fullness of Tucker’s cautiously, drinking in his worn bottom lip, the rough texture created from years of Tucker worrying it between his teeth.

They pulled apart, and Wash looked back at Tucker with a sense of ease.

“Hot,” Tucker blurted out like a kind of defence mechanism.

Wash smirked, making a point of his words. “Bye.”

-

Wash felt happy. He came home, scooped up his cats and went to lay down on his couch. He replayed the evening in his head, but one part in particular kept wriggling its way into Wash’s thoughts while he tried to concentrate on how good their kiss had felt.

_‘I’m behind on rent.’ ‘I keep losing jobs.’ ‘Kicked out.’_

The thought of Tucker struggling for money worried Wash in a way he wasn’t expecting, sighing in discomfort. His eyes caught his treadmill; he’d been using it less and less, especially now he felt more confident running outside. He didn’t really need it anymore, did he? Surely it was worth some kind of money.

Washington wobbled back to his feet, booting up his PC and getting a bottle of water from his fridge while he waited for it to turn on. He came back, cracking open the top and finding Epsilon had taken his place on the chair.

He picked him up, ignoring his grumbling and narrowly avoiding a swipe to the face. He resettled the stray in his lap, scratching behind his ear to calm Epsilon down, which happened fairly quickly.

Opening up Ebay, Wash spent a good hour and a half manoeuvring around the site and opening up an account, finding a picture that looked as similar as possible to his own machine after scrolling through Google Images for what seemed like forever.

Two hundred dollars seemed like a reasonable price. He posted the item up for sale before he could change his mind, leaning back in his chair and raking his fingers through Epsilon’s scab-ridden fur gently. Now all he had to do was figure out how to give Tucker the money.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Sargenut? Hey, me too. Like Sargenut porn? Hey, me too. Like Christmas? Hey, me too.
> 
> [The Christmas Present](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9097435) is a little side chapter I wrote in The Bet universe that sheds a little light on Sarge and Donut's relationship. Did I mention they fuck?
> 
> Stay in drugs and don't do school. See ya next time <3


	9. 07/21/20xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang gets together for a barbecue and Junior has a present for Wash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [rvlakia](http://rvlakia.tumblr.com/)

“ _More_ green?” Tucker asked in feigned exasperation.

His son smiled bright and nodded, pointing in the direction of the paint bottle. He bounced in his chair lightly, sat up on his knees.

Tucker smiled back and got up to retrieve it, shaking up the paint inside and squirting another blob into the Tupperware they were using as a pallet. Junior kept pointing, still bouncing.

“Not enough?” he said in response.

Junior shook his head, only satisfied once Tucker gave a few more squirts of the bottle, emptying the remainder of it. Tucker unscrewed the cap, scraping out the last few dregs with one of Junior’s discarded paintbrushes.

Junior swiped his current brush through the colour, applying it to a new page of printer paper.

Finished paintings lay on every available surface of the kitchen top, on the drying rack, by the chopping board, on top of the stove. Junior was covered in colours from his efforts, having woken his dad earlier that morning to the waving of paintbrushes in his face. Tucker was just happy to see Junior with some enthusiasm again.

Tucker paused his own more abstract piece to look over at what Junior was creating next.

He curled his hand into a thumbs up by his side and tilted it away from himself, following the action by moving his right arm into a horizontal position in front of him, using his left elbow to jump along it, left hand curved into a makeshift mouth. “Another dinosaur?” he signed as he spoke, finishing with a wiggle of his finger.

Once Junior’s attention was caught, he watched his father in intrigue.

“I was talking with Wash yesterday and he said he’d help teach us sign language,” Tucker explained at the look on his face, dropping his hands. “Like when you learned some with Donut when you were little?”

Junior stared, but then smiled. He brought up a fist. _‘Yes,’_ he signed.

Tucker was pleasantly surprised he remembered. “Cool stuff, my little dude.”

This was a good idea; Tucker was feeling optimistic about the entire thing. Giving Junior a way to communicate non-verbally would give Tucker a better idea about what was going on in his head, even if he’d already learned plenty of the cues. It couldn’t hurt to make it easier for both of them.

An interrupting knock came from the front door. Tucker dropped his brush into the jar of water, getting back up. He wiped a little paint on Junior’s nose as he passed, which gained him a giggle. Tucker smiled at the sound, wiping his stained hands on his jeans, shrugging when the paint bled into the fabric. It was poster paint; he was sure it'd rinse out in the wash.

The knocking became a little more aggressive since he was taking his time, and with that Tucker realised who it was. He peeked through the hole in the door, the sight confirming his thoughts were correct. It was Church.

“Hey, man, I need to borrow your phone charger,” he said once Tucker got the door open, holding out a hand expectantly.

Tucker stared in disbelief at his friend. A week of radio silence and the asshole turns up at his home asking for his things. It was so typical Church he didn't know why he bothered letting it get to him.

“Are you really trying the glasses again, dude?” Church continued, raising an eyebrow.

Tucker found his words, irritation bubbling over at the unwarranted jab. “And where the fuck have you been?”

“Wow, what got your panties all twisted, asshole?” Church snapped back, narrowing his eyes as if Tucker was attacking him out of left field.

“You, dickface,” replied Tucker. “You’ve been gone weeks!”

“ _Weeks_ is an exaggeration. _A_ week.”

Tucker crossed his arms. “And what took up a week?”

“I was with Tex.”

“Who?”

Church didn’t even try to hide his pissed expression. “My _girlfriend_. You met her when we went out, remember?”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “So I’m supposed to remember that but I’m being overdramatic when you disappear for a week?” He re-shifted to be leaning against the doorway. “You could have at least answered my messages, dude. I really needed you-” he glanced down, anger trailing off a little. “Loads of shit has been happening.”

Church groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “God, you’re like a needy girlfriend.”

Tucker straightened defensively. “Shut the fuck up, asshole. I’m serious.”

“Yeah? Well so am I, you’re acting like a teenage girl on her period.”

“And you’re acting like a grade-A cunt,” said Tucker.

“I’m sorry my life doesn't revolve around you, Tucker.” Church was venomous, gesturing with his hands. “In fact, you're only a very small part of it.”

Tucker frowned, trying to ignore the pang of hurt as he was ridiculed for his emotions.

“Now are you gonna give me your damn charger or not?” Church held out his hand again.

Tucker slammed the door in his face.

“Wow, thanks, nice to see you too!” Church whacked at Tucker’s door, turning to march back to his own apartment. “Cocksucker!” he called in afterthought.

Church slammed his door and Caboose jumped, head snapping back at the noise. Church cursed under his breath and threw his keys in the bowl, storming inside.

“Church! Don’t be so mean to the doors, you’ll break them,” began Caboose, the rapid fire of bullets and explosions coming the TV drowning out his whines. Tex, who was lounging beside him with controller in hand, seemed too enthralled in her game to offer a greeting of her own.

“Shut up, Caboose,” Church snapped.

“What is wrong? I heard you and Tucker yelling.” Caboose tilted his head, watching with big eyes as Church crossed the room.

“Get, get, you dumb-fuck dog.” Ignoring Caboose, Church shooed Shelia from the arm chair. The dog groaned as her old bones were shifted, retreating in the direction of the sofa.

Caboose continued, undeterred. “Tucker said no, didn’t he? It’s okay, Church, he doesn’t let me use his things either.”

Church ground his teeth. “I said, shut up!”

“I bet it's your fault.” Tex didn't look up from her match, making a noise of victory as she added two more kill counts to her score. “You have a talent for picking fights.” She threw a grenade around a corner, killing a player who was camping there.

“You are super good at the shooting game, lady,” Caboose spoke up from beside her. Sheila lolled on the couch beside them, dropping her head in Caboose’s lap.

“Thanks, Caboose,” she replied, tone turning softer for him.

Church was wound up even tighter, talking loudly over the onscreen blasts. “What is this? Everyone gang up on Church hour?” he spat. “And will you turn that down? It’s too fucking loud.” Church swiped up the remote, thumbing the volume controls.

“Leonard, for God’s sake, just use my phone. It's not the end of the world.” Tex wriggled her phone out of her pocket as the match ended, throwing it haphazardly in Church’s direction.

Church was too slow, the phone bouncing off his gut and onto the floor as he fumbled to catch it. “Bitch,” he grumbled, rubbing his stomach.

“What was that?” Tex’s nostrils flared, shooting daggers in Church’s direction. “You wanna give that back to me?”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Church snapped.

The lovers held a glare, which was interrupted, of course, by Caboose. “I’m going to go and get drinks. Who else wants drinks? I’m going to have a soda. Do you want a soda, Tex? Do you want a soda, Church?” He was up out of his seat. “I will get us sodas.”

Shelia grumbled at being disturbed _again_ , turning over and pressing her face into Tex’s thigh. Tex pointedly ignored Church and entered a new match, regretting driving down with him to spend the weekend in his shitty apartment with his shitty attitude.

“Where has the magic oven gone?” Caboose returned, passing out cans from their fridge.

Tex raised a brow.

“He means the microwave,” Church directed at Texas, swiping the can from Caboose’s outstretched hand. “I had to throw it out.”

Caboose gasped. “Why? Think of the popcorn, Church!”

“Because you broke it, moron,” reminded Church, glare condescending as he popped the tag of his soda. He sighed and looked up at the peeling paintwork of their ceiling, calming himself. “We can buy a new one once Casanova boy across the hall pays up.”

“He owes you money?” said Tex, pressing the cold metal of her own can against the back of her neck to try and sooth some of the heat.

“He will soon,” Church smirked, “when he loses.”

Caboose slurped up Dr Pepper. “Can I play?”

“It’s a bet, Caboose, not a game.”

“And what is this bet exactly?” asked Tex. She released her ponytail, dirty blonde hair falling by her shoulders.

Church gave context first. “Well, Tucker seems to think he’s still the fucking bigshot he was in high school, all ‘cause he got this girl’s number last week.”

“Aw, Church, did he steal away all your potential girlfriends?” teased Tex.

“Shut up.” Church was embarrassed by the cutting truth, scratching at his facial hair. “He was telling me how he could fuck anyone he wanted to, so I said: ‘fine, three hundred dollars for you to fuck the apartment’s designated creepy loner by the end of the month’, and he agreed.”

Alison sucked in air through her teeth. “Three hundred’s a lot of money.”

“It won’t matter since he’ll never do it. I know Tucker, he’ll end up feeling sorry for the guy and won’t be able to go through with it.”

“Who?” broke in Caboose.

“Guy next door, dude. The one that always looks ten seconds away from a fucking meltdown- you know, Caboose, cat-guy, the guy with the cats and the hoodies.”

“ _Oh_ , yes, I remember now.” Caboose nodded, announcing to the both of them, “He is sad. He cries a lot. You can hear it in my bedroom when I am in there.”

Church and Alison both stared.

Church awkwardly side glanced, breaking the silence. “Anyway. That’s the guy.”

“He doesn’t sound like the most stable person to be fucking with,” Tex voiced.

“Nah, it’ll be fine, not like he’s gonna find out. He’ll probably be happy to get some attention, if he even swings that way.”

“Like on a swing?” piped up Caboose.

“No, dumbass, like whether he likes sucking dicks or fucking pussies.”

“Ah,” said Caboose in enlightenment.                                                                                           

Tex cringed. “Say ‘pussy’ again, Church, and I’m breaking up with you.”

Church snorted and tipped back his soda.

The day was lazy, the three lounging about in Church’s living room for the majority of it. Caboose would get up occasionally to plod Sheila downstairs to relieve herself, the old dog needing to go more often due to her medication. Church ordered pizza for their lunch, arranging the boxes to make a spread on the coffee table for them to eat from.

By late afternoon they’d started on the six-pack of beer at the back of the fridge, empty pizza boxes stacked up on top of the trash can in the kitchen. Caboose was finishing off the last few slices, munching away contently, feeding little bits of the crusts to Sheila.

Tex stopped by the window on her way back from the bathroom. “Hey, what’s going on down there?”

The apartment’s garden had filled up with furniture from various apartments, some occupants stood around talking. Lopez could be seen dragging out a large cooler from the back entrance, Donut breaking away from his conversation to help him, bare legs predictably on show.

Caboose wandered over to peer over Tex’s head, pushing open the curtain to get a better view, leaning into her personal space. “It looks like there’s some chairs… and some tables… and friends too-” he pointed with his finger to show her, followed by an abrupt pause. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Hey… Church, is there a party and I wasn’t invited?”

Church watched Caboose look over his shoulder at him, expectant. “No, dumbass, everyone’s invited,” he answered. “It’s Donut’s stupid barbeque thing.”

Caboose gasped and slapped the side of his head. “Of course, how could I forget!?”

“You didn’t tell me there was a party going on, Church.” Tex looked unfazed by Caboose’s closeness, said man beginning to blabber nonsensically with excitement.

“Yeah.” Church looked back down at Tex’s phone, flicking his index finger across the screen as he played the mobile game he’d just downloaded. “I didn’t tell you because we’re not going.”

“Wha- But, Church!” Caboose bounded across the room, practically throwing himself over the back of the sofa as he leaned into Church’s field of view. “We have to go! All of our friends are going to be there!”

“ _Exactly,_ ” Church replied bitterly, pushing Caboose out of the way of the phone roughly. “I don’t want to see any of them.”

Caboose rubbed at the arm he’d pushed, frowning down at his best friend.

“Don’t worry, Caboose.” Tex approached to touch his back. “If he wants to be a prick he can just stay here. We can go by ourselves.”

-

Out in the garden, Junior and Tucker were sat waiting for Wash to come down from his apartment. Tucker lounged back on one of Sarge’s lawn chairs, looking casual in khaki shorts and worn down flip-flops, sunglasses protecting his eyes from the dying sun. Junior stayed close by in the grass. He’d chosen his best painting to give Wash as a present, setting aside the paper carefully to not crumple it.

Donut spotted the pair and came over. “Hey, guys! You want an ice pop, Junior?”

Tucker raised a hand in greeting, Junior jumping up at the chance of sweets. He smiled up at Donut.

Donut returned the affectionate gaze and held out a popsicle box for the child, running a hand through his curls once he'd chosen what he wanted. Junior returned the touch with a hug to Donut’s legs, liking him almost as much as Tucker. _Almost._

“You cutie-pie.” Franklin lifted Junior up to give him a proper cuddle, pressing a kiss to his forehead for good measure. He balanced him on his hip, making an overdramatic noise as he held him, “You’ve gotten so big!”

Junior giggled and squeezed back, Donut’s smell and warmth familiar. He was set back down, and Junior appreciated Donut’s gentleness.

“You want one, Tucker?” offered Donut. He took a step towards him, dangerously close to the decorated printer paper on the ground, the painting shifting in the grass. He was about to take another step before Junior made a noise of distress, which Donut practically flinched at, twisting his head in his direction.

“It's the painting,” Tucker explained, nearly laughing at Donut’s reaction. “He doesn't want it getting ruined since it's a present for Wash.”

“Oh, sorry,” apologised Donut, relieved, stepping back away from the paper, circling around to give Tucker the box of ice pops. He picked the painting up to get a better look at it. “Wow, Junior! Did you paint this all by yourself?”

Junior pulled at the hem of his leopard print shirt and nodded shyly.

“It’s super good. Did I hear your dad say this is for Wash?”

“What’s for me?” Washington had approached the group from behind whilst they’d been busy talking with one another. He’d passed on the hoodie again, a clean t-shirt smooth against his chest.

“Wash!” Donut was the first to greet him, pulling him down into a firm hug.

Wash patted his back, feeling less awkward with each hug Donut gave him. They felt undeniably good, and he was suspicious Franklin was telepathic to the fact he needed them. “I think we saw each other literally two hours ago,” Wash reminded.

“Yeah, but I want an excuse to do this again,” Donut told him, squeezing Wash’s biceps a few times before pulling back, face bright, giving a giggle.

Wash smirked and batted his hand away, muttering something about leaving his arms alone.

Tucker’s chest panged, and Tucker was immediately annoyed at himself for even having an inclining of jealously. For starters, Wash had made it clear it was _Tucker_ he was interested in, and Tucker of all people knew how devoted Donut was to Sarge.

He just hadn’t realised how close they’d become. It had caught him off-guard was all. Tucker was doing this for money, after all, did it really matter even if Wash had a thing for Donut?

It was then Tucker noticed Wash was looking to him, reserved gaze all soft and… expectant? Tucker realised he was waiting for him to speak.

“Hey, Wash!” blurted Tucker, too loud to even be considered causal. If his hands weren’t so busy holding the box, he’d be hiding his face in them.

Washington’s eyes crinkled, giving an amused smile. “Hi.” His attentions went to Junior next, treating him to the same courtesy. “Hey, Junior.”

Junior smiled shyly, nibbling a little more of his popsicle, a little fruit juice melting onto his hand. He liked Wash. He walked over to take his painting from Donut, holding it out for Washington. He stared at his feet, a little worried he wouldn’t like it.

“This is for me?” Wash was surprised.

Junior nodded, keeping his head down.  Wash took it from him, looking over the picture.

The forefront of the painting seemed to be either a monster or a dinosaur, but knowing Junior’s obsession, it was most likely the latter, put together with different shades of green, white teeth and beady eyes. It was stood beside what looked to be a pond and a tree, a sun plastered in the corner of the paper. He thought it was good, and maybe he was biased because Junior had made it for him, but Junior had gone to the effort, and that’s what was mattered to him.

“I like it. I’ll put it up somewhere when I get home,” Wash promised, and Junior looked up at him in delight.

“You were trying to do a cat first, right, dude?” Tucker said, sharing with Wash fondly. “I thought they were all good, but Junior thought that one was the best.”

Junior stuck his popsicle back into his mouth, signing, ‘ _Yes._ ’

Wash blinked, smiling wider before he replied, ‘ _Thank you, it’s a very good painting. Your dad told me you know some ASL.’_ He didn’t even have to think about it, his hands moving as easily as they had when Maine was by his side.

Junior stared. He understood the ‘thank you’ and the ‘dad’, but the rest was lost on him.

“Sorry,” Wash apologised, moving his hands slower in time with his words. “Was that too fast?”

Tucker smiled at their combined cuteness. “He's been really pumped up since I told him you could teach him.”

“That's so awesome!” Donut interrupted. “I didn't know you knew ASL, Wash! Can you teach me too? I'll pay you.”

Wash shook his head. “You don't have to pay me- it's not like I have anything better to do.”

“Hey, don’t steal Junior’s ASL coach. I need him,” Tucker interjected a little too quickly.

Donut smirked, giving a knowing look. “I’m gonna go see how Sarge’s doing with the barbeque.” He left to cross the garden to where Lopez and his partner were finding creative ways to light coal, a current favourite being Lopez’s smuggled blow torch.

Wash pulled a chair a little closer to Tucker, taking an ice pop from the box after he’d gotten seated. He’d missed the look the two friends had shared. “It’s still pretty hot,” he commented.

“Yeah. Sarge really needs to get the AC fixed,” Tucker replied in agreement, trying to ignore how well Wash fitted into his clothes, the temptation to ogle only heightening thanks to the defence of his sunglasses.

At least he had Wash to himself now, but of course he wasn’t allowed that for long, Grif and Simmons making an appearance next. They caught sight of Tucker and bee-lined, Grif dragging his blow-up paddle pool behind him.

Junior pointed and looked back to his dad in excitement.

“I’ll go up and get your swimming trunks once it’s up, okay?” promised Tucker, which Junior was immensely pleased with.

A smile wormed onto Wash’s face, the way Tucker read Junior seemingly effortless.

“How come you’re hogging all the ice-cream?” Grif’s tone was accusatory when he reached them, Simmons close behind, concentration on his Nintendo DS as he caught Pokémon.

Tucker rolled his eyes and held out the box. “Just take it, you fat fuck.”

“I will,” said Grif proudly, swiping it away and rummaging through it for his favourite flavour- cream with a strawberry casing. He sent Junior a glance. “Hey, kid.”

Junior waved.

“This is Grif, he’s Junior’s uncle,” Tucker included Wash, introducing him to the couple, “and that’s Simmons, Grif’s carer.” Grif made a ‘hey!’ everyone ignored, Tucker smirking. “This is Wash, the guy I was telling you about.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Simmons seemed to be the most normal out of anyone Wash had met from the complex before, giving a polite smile. He crouched down in the grass beside Junior to show him his Pokédex, checking out of the conversation.

“I was starting to think Sarge had lied about getting a new tenant.” Grif grinned.

“Nope,” Wash rubbed through his hair awkwardly. “I’m real.”

Grif plonked himself down, and Tucker held back a sigh. “Oh, look, Caboose has turned up. Is that Church’s new girlfriend?” Grif said, gesturing with his popsicle.

Tucker recognised her, giving a nod. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Wonder where Church is,” Grif continued.

“There he is. Mister Asshole himself.” Tucker narrowed his eyes in the direction of Church, who followed out after Caboose and Tex begrudgingly.

Wash wondered where Tucker’s bitterness had come from.

“Where is the alcohol? I was promised alcohol.” Grif looked about in dissatisfaction, talking his thoughts aloud rather than holding the conversation with Tucker.

“Caboose!” Tucker yelled, recalling Wash was yet to meet him. “Hey, Caboose! Come over here!”

Caboose broke away from Church and Tex to come to the call, his lumbering size becoming more and more apparent with every step he took, a child-like movement to his walk. “Yes, Tucker?” His voice was mellow, gaze suspicious.

Tucker grinned wide. He’d been looking forward to this. “Caboose, I want you to meet Washington. The dude from next door.”

There was a beat of silence. “You’re the man with the cats who lives next door?” Caboose asked plainly, big brown eyes revealing his harmless nature despite his towering presence.

“Uh-huh?” returned Wash unsurely. He hadn’t had to look up at anyone in a long time.

Caboose nodded, solemn. “Here, you need this, Mister Washingtub.” He proceeded to engulf Wash in a hug, lifting him up so his feet no longer touched the ground. He squeezed lightly, pouring as much affection as possible into the touch to try, in his mind, to heal some of his pain.

From Washington's point of view, he was helplessly trapped and more than a little confused.

Tucker laughed.

-

Food was served up, Tucker taking Junior inside briefly to get him changed so he could play in the pool. Washington thought everything tasted pretty good, if not a little underdone, although the rareness seemed to be deliberate, Sarge keeping to the grill.

Church purposefully kept his distance from Tucker for the majority of the evening, and Wash didn’t miss the constant daggers Tucker kept throwing in his direction. Washington assumed the two had had a fight, but he wasn’t going to bring it up. Other than Tucker’s transparent contempt every now and again, he was having a pretty good time.

Being around civilians again wasn’t as daunting a task as he had been worrying, although Wash had admittedly been having second thoughts at first, when anxiety had been constricting his chest at all the new people Tucker had thrown at him, but he’d thought he’d done an adept job of hiding it.

It was when the alcohol started flowing more freely that problems arose again, Church finally approaching Tucker three drinks in with a, “Hey, man.”

“What up?” Tucker was too drunk to keep his anger, his glares having lost their edge the more his poured down his throat, grudges momentarily forgotten.

The two of them fell into banter, which rapidly had Wash feeling like an outsider. He drank through the rest of his bottle, hoping it would numb his insecurity, keeping quiet. Soon they were talking about Junior, Tucker not having many topics at his disposal those days.

“Bit? Like full on fucking teeth on skin?” Church was stitched up in laughter. “Shit, I didn’t even think he was capable of a slap. Did the kid bleed?”

Tucker shushed him, but was grinning too. He glanced around to make sure Junior was still away from the area, splashing around in the pool while Donut supervised. “I don’t know. Stop making him out to be a pussy, jackass.”

“Let’s be real.” Church looked unconvinced, starting up laughing again at the thought of Junior taking a chunk out of some brat’s arm.

Tucker snickered too, hitting him sloppily. “Stop.”

Washington felt increasingly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t enough to have him anxious yet.

He didn’t like the version of Tucker Church seemed to bring out in him. He hadn’t even been aware that Junior had hurt another kid at school, and he didn’t understand why either of them found it so funny, especially Tucker. Maybe it was the beer that had him out of character. No, Tucker had been drunker than this yesterday, this was something different entirely.

“You- Tucker you need to meet Tex properly,” Church garbled, talking like Wash wasn’t even there, waving over Texas who was close by. “Tex, you remember Tucker, right? My best friend?”

“Yeah, I remember. Tucker the _fucker_ ,” Texas recalled, giving a drunken nod with her bottle and putting a free hand on her hip. Her eyes caught Wash. “Hey, you’re cat-guy, right? Church was telling me about you. Tucker banged you yet?”

The conversation froze and Washington’s eyebrows came together as he was singled out. “Uh…”

Behind Wash, Tucker’s expression flashed to life with panic, a chill dropping deep into his stomach. He looked to Church, pulling a face of absolute incredulity and flailing a hand, terrified he had just ruined everything. _What the fuck?_ he mouthed in his direction.

Wash wasn’t sure which he disliked more: being completely ignored or having the focus of everyone. What did Tex even mean by that?

Church, sensing the train wreck that was about to happen, put his arm around Tex’s waist and spoke before she could again. “Oh, yeah,” his voice was strained, “we used to talk about you _all_ the time. Tucker’s had a boner over you for ages, Wash.”

Tex jerked an elbow into Church’s ribs in response, snapping, “I told you not do that!”

He yelped in response. “Well, there’s no need to be a massive bitch about it!” he argued, matching her tone.

Wash ignored the bickering couple to instead look back at Tucker, confused. He’d never seen Tucker so flustered, the man bringing a hand to the back of his neck and letting out a nervous laugh as their gaze crossed. Wash blushed too, but gave a smile. It was actually kind of flattering Tucker had liked him for so long.

“I should probably go check on Junior. Coming?” Tucker felt like his stomach was being excavated.

“Sure.” Wash was compliant.

Tucker guided Wash away from Tex and Church quickly. He wanted to get him away before their argument over the use of PDA unravelled into anything else incriminating. He liked Wash too much by this point to want to hurt his feelings.

The later it became, the more the alcohol was shared around the group. Grif had overtaken the paddling pool, ‘his fat ass taking up the entire thing,’ as Simmons had put it, eating leftovers. Junior was dozing under a couple of blankets on the old sofa, Caboose looking not too far behind him as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Sarge had put together a makeshift fire in the remaining charcoal of the BBQ, most of the chairs now arranged in a way so everyone could sit together.

Donut was crying with laughter over some story Church was relaying to him, arms wrapped around Sarge’s neck affectionately, sat in his lap. Tex had gone back inside, most likely puking her guts after the amount of alcohol she’d consumed. Grif stayed in the water despite the lowered temperature, claiming he couldn’t feel the cold, which Simmons promptly chided was due to his insulation, earning him a splash.

“Es una ballena gorda,” had said Lopez in Grif’s direction before bursting out into mean-spirited laughter.

Tucker had his chair pulled up next to where Junior slept, pulling the covers up further over his little body. The night’s air was cool against his bare legs, but not enough to have him shivering yet.  “I love him so much,” Tucker slurred, empty can in hand.

“I know,” Wash responded. Things felt better again now they were alone.

Tucker straightened in his chair, looking in his direction a few long moments. “Hey, Wash?” he asked.

“Hm?” Sighing, Wash picked at the label of his beer, the alcohol now sitting pleasantly in his chest. He should probably have given drinking a pass after last night, and knew he could come to regret it by tomorrow morning, but he couldn’t feel any regret when he was so contented in that moment.

Tucker’s smile became sad. “Do you think I’m a bad dad?”

Wash was caught off-guard by the question, almost to the point of being shocked to sobriety. “What?”

His expression didn’t falter; Tucker was being serious. He was waiting for Wash to answer him.

“No.” Wash leaned forward, shaking his head. “No, no. Why would you think that, Tucker? You’re a great father.”

Tucker suddenly became very interested in his beer can, scrunching up the aluminium with his hands. “I don’t know. Just something Kimball said. Sorry, man, I don’t know why I asked you that.”

“That’s your boss, right? Why, what did she say?” Alcohol left Wash loose lipped.

Tucker hesitated, dropping the can at his feet. “Just about how I spend all my cash on myself rather than Junior. That I gotta stop asking her for shifts if I’m just gonna waste it on going out.”

Wash’s expression shifted. “That’s fucked up, Tucker. Completely fucked. It’s nothing to do with your boss what you do when they pay you.”

“Yeah, dude, I guess… but I was asking her for extra work.”

“That’s a normal thing to ask,” Washington reassured.

Junior made a noise, turning over and looking to Tucker blearily. He was restless, the noise making it difficult to sleep. He grabbed for his hand.

“Alright, Junior, Daddy’s got you.” Tucker lifted the squirming child up, Junior still wrapped up loosely in the blanket. He pushed aside the fabric from his face and Junior scrunched up his nose at smell of Tucker’s breath drifting over his face, half asleep. Tucker stunk of alcohol.

He looked back, and saw Wash was stood too. Tucker thought it was sweet he wanted to make sure Junior was okay.

“I think I’m gonna go inside and get him to bed,” decided Tucker, free hand moving out to brush a few cat hairs from Wash’s chest. He froze, realising what he’d just done.

Wash looked a little taken aback too. “Probably best. He looks tired.” He shifted awkwardly, looking away as Tucker quickly withdrew his hand. He was seemingly caught between the decision of staying stood up or sitting back down.

“…See you later?” Tucker smiled, watching Wash cling to his last pieces of casualness as he fought his own embarrassment. A little fondness unfolded in Tucker’s stomach.

“Yeah, see you later,” Washington agreed.

Tucker nodded and carried Junior back towards the apartment building. Over his shoulder, he noticed Church watching them, a flush of hotter embarrassment flashing over him. Had he just seen that?

The way Leonard smiled spoke for itself, and Tucker turned to hurry inside, leaving Washington alone, surrounded by the chatter of his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can Ethan and Hilia Klien adopt me? Please and Thank-you.
> 
> Hope everyone's having a nice week, eat your greens, don't be an asshole and remember to leave a comment. If you want.
> 
> Ha.


	10. 07/22/20xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash, Tucker and Junior go out for hangover food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [rvlakia](http://rvlakia.tumblr.com/)

It was ten AM and Wash was hung over.

“You wanna go for pancakes?” Tucker was at his door, Junior in tow.

Wash couldn’t remember getting out of bed let alone answering the door, but there he was, vision dizzy from lack of sleep and hydration. He tried to replay what Tucker had just said in his head.

They both stared at him, Tucker expectant for a response.

Wash tried, and struggled, to comprehend the question for a second time. He rubbed an eye, the taste of beer still on his tongue, accompanied by the vile taste of a night’s sleep without toothpaste. “What?” said Wash. How eloquent.

“Pancakes,” Tucker reiterated, refusing to acknowledge how cute Wash was in his sleepy state. “Or anything really. Breakfast. We were gonna go to Grif’s place.”

Wash held back a yawn, still catching up with being a functional human. His stomach churned uncertainly and he became aware of a pounding in his head.

“Junior asked for you to come,” said Tucker at the lack of a response, a half-lie, because he totally hadn’t been thinking up excuses on how he could see Wash that morning. Or further excuses as to why the veteran seemed to have wriggled his way into his thoughts every waking hour.

Just the thought of Church stepping out of his apartment right then and seeing him stooping to this kind of mushiness had him in discomfort. He would laugh at Tucker for being so pathetic over someone. Being pathetic over David Washington, the guy he was supposed to be making a quick buck off.

“Breakfast?” he said, Wash’s face finally merging into a reaction. It landed on surprise.

“Yeah, man, if you’re down. You look pretty hungover,” said Tucker.

“And you’re not?” replied Washington, disbelieving.

“Some guys can handle their liquor better than others, Wash.” Tucker puffed up in accomplishment.

“I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, but that doesn’t make you cool, it just makes you an alcoholic.”

Tucker scoffed in mock offence. “Sounds like you’re just jealous, dude.”

There was movement. Ari appeared at Washington’s heels, letting out a cry and rubbing up against his ankles. Junior gasped and rushed forward, dropping to his knees. He pushed his fingers through her fur, which Ari purred at appreciatively.

The two of them watched Junior for a moment, Tucker looking up to find Wash smiling fondly.

Tucker cleared his throat. “So, you coming, or what?”

“Yeah, just let me get ready,” Wash agreed, stepping aside. “Come in.”

Tucker grinned, peering around Wash into his apartment, curious to see inside. Junior hadn’t got the memo they were entering, too enthralled in Ari. Stray hairs stuck to his sleeve as he stroked down her back.

“Junior, Wash just invited us inside,” informed Tucker. “You can pet the cat more after.”

Junior got to his feet in obedience, flashing a shy smile in Washington’s direction and heading into his apartment. Wash leaned down to pick up Ari before she got any bright ideas and ran off down the hall. “Her name’s Ari,” he reminded, and Tucker just smirked.

The space was very different to Tucker’s despite its mirrored layout, adult in a way unfamiliar to him. He’d forgotten not everyone lived in a mountain of clutter: from being a slob, like Church and Grif, a parent, like himself, or a hoarder, like Donut.

 _He’s a neat freak,_ thought Tucker, the reality being that Wash didn’t have much else constructive to occupy himself with until recently.

“Make yourself at home.” Wash gestured to his sofa, Ari jumping down out of his arms.

“Daddy, look!” Junior piped up, his sudden outburst catching Wash as off guard as it had the first time. The little boy went skipping towards where Epsilon was sat on top the TV.

“He’s not friendly,” Wash warned quickly, worry straining his voice as the stray punctuated his point with a hiss in Junior’s direction, hackles raised in retaliation.

Junior flinched, retreating quickly to Tucker in fear. Tucker picked him up, rubbing his back in comfort on instinct, watching the cat wide-eyed as Epsilon jumped down from his perch and sulked away into the kitchen. His tail swiped back and forth.

“Sorry,” said Washington. “I should have warned you about Epsilon but I forgot.”

Tucker waved it off with a free hand, heart still thudding faster than he’d care to admit. “No biggie, only shit our pants a little,” he said, “right, little man?”

Junior’s steel grip loosened a little, the shock wearing off. He looked back, Wash watching him in concern.

“I’m sorry, Junior,” Wash spoke more directly, forgetting to sign. “Ari and Skyler are okay to play with, he’s just a little grumpy. Loud noises and sudden movement scares him.”

Junior could relate to that. He didn’t like either of those things either. He smiled to show Wash that he was okay. Washington gave a relieved expression back.

“You’d think you’d have been alright considering we don’t get a peep out of you half the time,” Tucker teased his son affectionately, pressing a kiss to his forehead and setting him down.

“Can I get you a drink or anything before I go get dressed?” said Wash in an attempt at being polite, running his fingers through his hair.

“You wanna drink, Junior?” asked Tucker first, Junior shaking his head, Tucker replying, “Nah, we’re all good. Just be quick, I’m fucking hungry.”

-

Junior held Tucker’s hand all the way to the diner, his usual, quiet self as he listened in on the grown ups’ conversation. He soon found it wasn’t about aliens or dinosaurs, so he didn’t find it very interesting. He decided on concentrating on avoiding the cracks in the pavement instead, making a game out of it.

“I didn’t know Grif owned a restaurant,” commented Wash, regretting not having the luxury of sunglasses, the morning sun bright and intrusive. It made his headache worse.

Tucker guffawed, own eyes shielded by the same glasses he’d worn at the barbeque. “I think ‘restaurant’ is generous. It’s a shitty diner.”

“You’re really selling it.” Wash looked forward to a large, black coffee and something greasy. North had always made the best hangover food; Wash craved one of his bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches.

“The food makes up for it,” promised Tucker.

They walked in amicable silence, the Momona Kao coming into view in no time. Tucker had to do a double take when he noticed most of the booths and tables were filled with people. Since when had they gained a customer base?

“Looks pretty busy.” Washington pushed open the door, the chatter ringing around his ears and making him want to bury his face in a pillow.

Grif was just coming out from the kitchen on their arrival, a plate on his arm and two in his hands. He was red-faced and visibly irritable, not clocking their existence as he trod by. He served up the breakfast to a nearby family, gritting his teeth into an unbecoming smile, turning to head back when he caught sight of Tucker.

“What’re you doing out on the front?” japed Tucker, pushing up his shades. Junior grabbed at Tucker’s shirt and he lifted the boy up onto his hip.

Unamused with Tucker’s mocking, Grif rolled his eyes. “Lost my food safety certificate so Simmons is in the kitchen ‘till I get it back.”

Tucker laughed, his face lighting up.

“Laugh it up,” deadpanned Grif in response.

Tucker tilted his head in Wash’s direction. “Sorry, Wash, I lied. The food ain’t gonna be good, Simmons can’t cook for shit.”

“Hey, the only person here that’s allowed to talk shit about Simmons is me, so shut your trap,” cut in Grif.

Wash laughed, Tucker smirked and the three of them went to find a seat. Grif retreated into the kitchen to run more food.

Junior bounced into a booth, pulling out a menu and pointing to the pancake stack he wanted. He’d known the entire walk over there: three double chocolate pancakes, with chocolate chips, and chocolate ice cream, and chocolate fudge and chocolate sauce.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be able to eat all that, dude?” Tucker reached over for another two menus, passing one to Wash opposite him.

Junior nodded, pointing to the large chocolate milkshake next.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick,” warned Tucker.

Junior just smiled and kept pointing, pulling his pterodactyl from his pocket to set on the table.

Tucker rolled his eyes and ruffled up Junior’s hair. “Fine, just don’t be bitching when you get a stomach ache.” He looked to Wash. “How can I say not this cute face?”

Tucker gently squished Junior’s cheeks with one hand, Junior batting away his arm, matching smiles on both their faces. Wash liked to see Tucker being such a dad.

“I couldn’t,” agreed Wash warmly, deciding from a quick skim-read over the menu he was going to order a fry up and hope for the best.

Grif eventually got around to Tucker and Wash’s table to get their order after getting out all the plates accumulated under the heat lamps. Simmons was stressed running around the kitchen trying to do everything at once, Grif getting an earful every time he went into the kitchen.

“So what’d’you want?” Grif wiped a sweaty hand on his pant leg and pulled a note pad from his back pocket, patting down for a pencil before he realised it was behind his ear.

His uncle’s antics gained a giggle from Junior.

Tucker ordered for him and Junior. Junior leaned into Tucker as he spoke, taking a loose hold on a few of his dreads, the familiar texture soothing. Wash ordered next, Grif raising an eyebrow as he scribbled messily. “Simmons is gonna love that,” he commented.

Wash just prayed his food was gonna be cooked properly.

Grif put the other tables on hold to go and make Junior his milkshake, caring more about his nephew than the rest of the assholes in the place combined. He was generous, added extra bits and pieces free of charge, heaping on a ridiculous amount of whipped cream.

He brought the monstrosity over, refilled coffee jug in his free hand. Grif pulled out a napkin and set the milkshake down on top. “Here you go, kiddo.”

Junior shifted onto his knees, smile coming to his mouth as he ogled over Grif’s creation. ‘ _Thank you,’_ he signed a couple of times in Grif’s direction, scooping up a glob of cream with his spoon and pushing it in his mouth.

“Do you know how to sign ‘uncle’?” asked Wash as Grif poured coffee into his cup, neither commenting as some of it splashed out onto the table.

Junior shook his head. Tucker pushed his own coffee cup closer so Grif wouldn’t be leaning over as far.

Washington lifted two fingers and moved them circularly by his forehead. “Like this,” he said, “then you’d either sign or fingerspell Grif’s name.”

Junior copied the action amateurishly, looking a little lost over what Wash meant for the last bit.

“You tend to have to create signs from other for people’s names, mine’s pretty easy, just ‘Washington’.” He signed his name the way Maine used to. “Fingerspelling is just the alphabet, like this,” he signed as he spoke out the letters, “A, B, C.”

Junior’s eyebrows came together in concentration, repeating the signs, clumsy. Tucker felt pride, beaming away encouragingly at his son’s efforts. It meant a lot to him, okay?

“You’ll get the hang of it in no time, Junior,” Wash reassured, glancing up. “Thanks, Grif.”

“Yeah, thanks, dude,” added Tucker, leaned over to grab the milk.

Grif shrugged lazily, giving his face a rest from smiling. “Too many fucking people in here.” He was about to slide into the booth next to Wash for a rest before a table called for more coffee. He held back a groan, dragging his feet as he continued working.

Wash felt better after his first couple of drinks of coffee, the caffeine making him feel more awake and less achy.

Tucker scrunched up his nose at the thought of the bitterness being in his own mouth, in the process of pouring a little sugar into his cup. “Gross. Church drinks it black too. I don’t get it.”

Wash smiled, drinking down another mouthful. “I’m not picky.”

Their food came out after a little while, suspiciously before some families that had been there before they had even entered the diner. No one complained though, and Tucker thought they deserved the special treatment, it wasn’t like he or Junior got it anywhere else.

Junior struggled to cut up his food, Tucker gently taking the cutlery from his hands to cut it up for him.

“This looks better than you made out it would,” said Wash, poking around his plate with his fork.

“Huh,” Tucker was playfully snide, flicking his hair over his shoulder so it wasn’t in Junior’s food, “I guess Simmons’ been practising.”

Silence drifted over the table. Tucker finished cutting up Junior’s pancakes and everyone started eating. Tucker found the mutual quietude didn’t make him feel discomfort in the slightest. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been able to sit with someone and just shut the fuck up for a few seconds.

“You work a little further downtown, right?” Eventually, Wash broke the silence. It felt natural, unforced.

“Yeah,” replied Tucker, mouth full of syrupy goodness. “Car wash.”

“I remember. The Auto Shine one? I see it on my run,” said Washington.

“Yeah,” Tucker nodded, rubbing over the broken skin on the back of his hand from all the cold water and harsh chemicals. “I hate it. _Hate_ it, man. I just want an office job or something like that, but no one’ll take me ‘cause I was too much of a retard to realise staying in school and getting my High School Diploma was important.”

Wash shrugged. “You’ll find something. I don’t have a diploma either.” He shook salt over his fried eggs.

Tucker’s eyes widened. “You don’t have a High School Diploma?!”

The other raised an eyebrow. “Nope, I joined the military when I was seventeen,” shared Wash.

“Huh. How come?”

Wash hesitated. “Stuff was bad at home. Dad had died recently in duty and I couldn’t keep my temper under control.” He averted his eyes. “Did some stuff I’m not proud of. Let’s just say me and my mom don’t talk anymore.”

Tucker sensed they were encroaching on something delicately personal, changing the subject. “That’s a long-ass time to be in the army, dude. I was actually thinking about joining before Kai got pregnant.”

“You still want to?”

Tucker shrugged. “Maybe. I dunno.”

Wash shook his head a little, thumb rubbing against the handle of his coffee cup. His eyes glazed over a little. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”

“You regret joining?” asked Tucker, pushing a piece of bacon into his mouth.

Wash shook his head again, more definitively. “No. I-” his hesitation was more apparent, “it’s hard to explain. Without it I don’t think I’d be the same person. I wouldn’t have met my squad either.”

“You still talk to them?”

Wash shook his head.

“You drift apart or some shit?” asked Tucker.

“Uh, it’s complicated,” half-lied Wash.

This topic was a mistake.

Thank God for Junior, the little boy pausing his chewing to grab for Wash’s hand for his attention. He pointed out the window.

The conversation was put on hold, and they all watched as a small black tabby crawled out from under a car to stretch their legs.

-

After they finished breakfast, Tucker managed to convince Wash to come with them to the park. Junior padded off, plastic dinosaur in hand. He made himself comfortable in the isolation of the sand pit on the outskirts of the playground.

Tucker and Wash sat together on a nearby bench, shielded from the sun by a few overhanging trees. “Crap, didn’t think to bring sun screen,” said Tucker, worrying his bottom lip through his teeth a few times.

“It’ll be fine. We’re just gonna be here a little while, yeah?” replied Washington.

Tucker half-joked, “Trying to get away from us so soon, Wash?” There was some truth beneath the surface of the jab, Wash always seeming to slip away back to his apartment too early.

Wash was quick to answer. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay,” interrupted Tucker, gently punching Wash’s arm. “I get it. People aren’t your thing. Don’t blame you.”

Wash wanted to argue. He wanted to say he liked people very much, enjoyed company, Tucker’s company especially, but he didn’t. Instead, he ran his hand through his hair, looking out to where Junior was playing.

A few feet away, Junior buried his feet in the warmth of the sand, gentle smile coming to his face as he guided his dinosaur up the mound onto his knees. He easily fell into daydream, imagining the pterodactyl was on a journey through the desert to find his lost friends. He’d learnt quickly how to keep occupied.

“Look at him.” Tucker’s expression melted at his son’s cuteness. “He looks so happy. I wish I could just keep him off school all the time.”

The adoration on Tucker’s face had Wash sweating in a way that had nothing to do with the heat, chest tight with emotions. “From what you said yesterday it doesn’t sound like he likes school too much.”

Tucker’s face became troubled and Wash regretted the direction he’d taken the subject. “Yeah. It’s bad. I’m practically dragging the kid out the door, it’s getting even worse recently,” said Tucker. “I can’t really remember much of what I told you.”

“Not much,” lied Wash. “Just about Junior biting some kid at school.”

Tucker groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Oh, that bullshit,” he said once he’d reappeared. “I don’t think the other kids like him too much. He’s too soft for his own good, man.”

Wash sympathised.

Tucker turned his head to look more directly at Wash. He was still quiet, but his eyes were focused, open. He was giving him a chance to speak, Tucker realised, he was listening to what he had to say instead of intruding with _advice_ and _suggestions_.

Tucker rubbed a hand over his arm, this kind of attention alien. He began, “He’s never been too good at making friends, what with not talking and all. It’s hard to believe he’s mine half the time, what with how shy his is.” He gave a half laugh. “No one at school takes the time to be patient with him. His bitch of a teacher doesn’t even seem to get he’s being bullied.”

“Bullied?” said Wash.

“I don’t know. I think so,” said Tucker. “That’s what makes it even worse. I know Junior, I _know_ him, he wouldn’t flip out on someone if they weren’t upsetting him bad. You’ve seen him, he’s the chilliest little guy you ever met, something’s happening and I can’t do anything to help him. I’m fucking useless.

“I get so frustrated that he can’t just tell me, I keep ending up yelling at him and it ain’t fair on either of us. When I had social services on my ass when Kai first upped and left, I had all these specialists telling me all this shit on how to handle him and I didn’t know who to listen to, who was right, still don’t.

“Some of them would tell me he’s autistic, and others said he was just developing slow. You should have heard them, going on about all these disabilities. Man, I couldn’t even tell you half of them. I just want us to be happy, him to be happy. I want a nice place for him to grow up and I can’t even do that.

“I just get so fucking stressed out,” ranted Tucker, derailing as worries flew from his mouth, “and I don’t want it, Wash. I know it should be all about Junior but I just wanna do my own thing like I used to, didn’t even get a proper chance to in the first place.

“I know I should go out less, but I’d go crazy without it, I don’t wanna take it out on him ‘cause I never got my twenties. It’s not his fault I’m a screw up of a father. Kimball’s right, okay? I’m a selfish asshole. I never wanted to be a dad, some days I just wish I could start again, I know it makes me a shitty person but it’s true.”

Wash opened his mouth to argue but Tucker kept going.

“And I shouldn’t be throwing all this shit on you ‘cause we’ve known each other like a week, but I don’t know what to do anymore. Church doesn’t care, and everyone else is too busy with their own stuff. I can’t do everything. If I don’t work, we don’t get money, but Junior’s happy; if I do work, we do get money, but Junior’s miserable.” Tucker rubbed his face again. “I don’t know what the answers are, dude.”

“No one knows what the answers are, Tucker,” Wash did his best to soothe Tucker’s very real problems, “you’re not selfish just because you’re unhappy, that just makes you human. Everyone has things they wished they’d done different. As for a screw up dad? You’d do anything for that kid, that’s more than most people would.”

Tucker didn’t answer.

“You deserve a break every now and again, you can’t be expected to- to have to do everything by yourself. Give yourself some credit, Tucker. He knows he’s loved, that’s the most important thing.”

Tucker didn’t answer again, and Wash felt like he’d said too much, or maybe not enough. He became interested in a loose splinter on the edge of the bench.

Wash tried to pick it away, missing, his hand bumping into Tucker’s. Their fingers brushed. Wash tensed, the man withdrawing his hand and pushing it into his pocket hoodie. He looked ahead at Junior playing by himself in the sandpit again.

“If you wanted to hold my hand, Wash, all you had to do was ask.” Wash glanced to find Tucker had taken up a smile, seemingly unabashed, cocking a brow and offering his palm to him. His tone was playful yet sincere, allowing Wash both options. He could back out or he could take him up, there’d be no hard feelings.

It was nice to have a break from the heavy atmosphere.

Pulling his hand from his pocket, Washington decided to thread together their fingers. Wash’s smile was soft, almost relieved, and the warmth of the affection comforted both.

Tucker squeezed his hand, and Washington squeezed back, the pair yet to break eye contact.

“You gotta good grip,” said Tucker, his smile turning coquettish. “Bow-chicka-bow-wow.”

“Don’t ruin it, Tucker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all having a nice day?
> 
> ~~gonna try and be more regular with updates in April but I can't promise nothing~~
> 
> thanks for reading <3


	11. 07/23/20xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker recruits Wash into watching Junior for his suspension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [rvlakia](http://rvlakia.tumblr.com/)

* * *

 

* * *

“Alright, little pimp, Wash is gonna be here any minute.” Tucker pushed his phone into his back pocket and tied his bandana over his forehead. A stray dread stayed loose, Tucker sighing in mild annoyance and pushing it back into his updo. It fell out again. Tucker left it.

The kitchen was a little cleaner than usual, but was still a long shot off being presentable. Junior didn’t seem to mind, debatably too accustomed. He hadn’t heard Tucker, carefully breaking off pieces of cereal to feed his dinosaurs.

“Junior? Bud, you listening?” said Tucker. “I’m going to work.”

Upset crossed Junior’s face.

“Don’t give me that look. Wash is gonna be here. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Tucker went to get the door when Washington arrived. He grabbed his work bag, shoving a chocolate bar inside for his lunch.

Junior was hot on his heels. This was exactly why Tucker liked to slip out unnoticed, his son over-reliant on his presence. He was emotional when it came for them to part, even for a few hours.

“Morning,” greeted Tucker, leaving the door open for Wash. He stepped into his trainers and started work on tying up the laces. Junior’s grip on the back of his shirt tightened.

“Morning,” said Wash back, shutting the door behind him. “Good morning, Junior.” He signed Junior’s greeting for him too, fingerspelling his name.

Wash was ignored, Junior turning his head away from him.

“Sorry he’s not dressed yet, we didn’t have time. Just let him pick whatever from his draws, he doesn’t need too much help. If you’re not sure where something is, just ask him and he’ll show you. If there’s an emergency call me, Donut’s sleeping upstairs, anything else just text me, dude,” Tucker rambled.

Wash listened, nodding. “Uh-huh.”

Tucker felt unsteady from Junior’s pulling, balance wobbling slightly, still crouched. He was sharper than usual. “Junior, be gentle or let go.”

Junior did neither. Washington sensed the tension between them, but didn’t interfere. “You got your phone working again,” he commented to break the silence.

“Yeah,” said Tucker. “Got Simmons to look at it for me- Junior, seriously, dude, you’re gonna make me late. Let go.”

Junior’s pout deepened, finally letting go at his dad’s scolding tone. He let his upset stay transparent on his face.

“Thanks for doing this, Wash,” Tucker said, straightening back up and grabbing his bag, “you’re really helping me out.”

“No problem,” Wash smiled at Junior, trying to keep the awkwardness out his voice. “We’re gonna have a fun week, right, kid?”

Junior started to cry lightly, little shoulders shaking. Tucker watched an unsureness develop on Wash’s face, saw his progressive discomfort. Small children were not his expertise, clearly.

Tucker rubbed his face. It was difficult not to cave to Junior’s wishes, but he couldn’t. They needed the money. “Sweetheart, look at me,” he was soft.

The child gripped the front of his pyjamas, staring at his bare feet.

He hated this. “I have to go.”

Junior moved through the space between them and attached himself to Tucker’s leg. Tucker held back a groan.

“Junior, it’s this or school. Which do you want it to be?” lied Tucker, voice a little strained. Junior wasn’t allowed back to school until that Thursday, but he’d pretend that wasn’t the case if it would mean he would let go of his pant leg. He needed to be at the car wash on time.

Junior stayed glued to Tucker’s leg a few more moments as he processed his words. He uncurled his fingers, taking this over school any day, running off to his bedroom. He was frustrated and upset, not yet fully grasping how important Tucker going to work was. In his mind his Daddy was just being unfair.

Tucker swallowed guilt. “Having second thoughts?” he asked Wash, jokey, an attempt to lighten the mood. He felt rundown already despite the full day ahead.

Shaking his head in well-meant deceit, Wash smiled soft. “We’ll be okay, I think I can handle it.”

Tucker squeezed Wash’s arm, replying, “Thanks.”

He left. Wash checked the time, they had nine hours alone together and Junior was upset. He wandered down the hall, trying to think of the best approach.

Washington ran his hand through his hair a few times, the beginnings of regret in the back of his mind. _I got lucky last time_ , he thought.

There was silence coming from Junior’s bedroom, which Washington supposed was better than crying. He went through, thankful to find the door already open. He knocked on it anyway, Junior laid face down on his bed, fingers grasped around a teddy he didn’t recognise. It was an alien plush, makeshift space helmet pushed over its head from a plastic bottle.

Wash hovered. “Uh, you okay, kid?”

Junior turned, keeping his back to Wash, sniffing and wiping at his eyes. He liked Wash, but he wanted his Daddy.

“Wanna get dressed?” he asked.

Junior shook his head.

Wash didn’t push, replying, “Alright. I’ll just be out here when you want me.” He lingered a little longer. He left when Junior remained motionless.

-

“Nice glasses.” Felix made the first comment (unsurprising) half-way through a breakfast burrito. He took another bite, smiling around the egg, bacon and wrap as Tucker approached.

“Thanks,” he replied, Felix’s tone making it difficult to determine whether he was insulting him or not. “That smells good, man.”

“Tastes good too,” said Felix, drawling out his words like it was obvious. “You want some?”

“Yeah, dude, I’m starving.” He held out a hand for the bottom half of the burrito, wrapped in tinfoil.

Felix moved it out from his grasp. “I was joking,” he deadpanned, “buy your own damn food.”

Tucker glared, hungry, his temper already short.

“What’s got you so pissy?” said Felix at Tucker’s grumpy expression.

Tucker kicked an empty bucket in Felix’s direction. The plastic bucket scraped along the concrete, Felix effortlessly stopping it with his foot. He didn’t even flinch. He laughed at Tucker.

The fact that Felix was so unfazed pissed Tucker off even more.

“Tucker, my office, now!” Kimball yelled out through her office window, having just witnessed what had happened.

Tucker rubbed his palms into his eye sockets, chewing at hit bottom lip

Felix laughed harder, not bothered. He took another bite of his breakfast; his morning was already off to a great start.

Tucker’s not so much, getting chewed out for ten minutes in his boss’ office for damaging company property before he was sent back out to start work. Kimball exhaustively reminded him what thin ice he was on.

In a bad mood for the rest of the morning, Tucker silently started work, lathering up cars and rinsing them down again, letting muscle memory take over as he polished, washed and wiped. He hated what it did to his hands, all the cold water and the chemicals, causing his skin to crack and bleed, itch and ache.

He did it for Junior, because he loved him, and loving him meant giving him somewhere safe and warm to sleep and putting food in his belly.

Andersmith commented he was looking a little pale a few cars in, dropping his sponge into his bucket and going inside to get Tucker a protein bar. After getting that down him, Tucker felt better, Palomo and Jensen giving the extra effort to make him laugh, banter quickly picking back up.

“Hey, Tucker.” Felix came up behind him late morning, squeegee in hand, trying to get his attention.

Tucker was on his knees, scrubbing at a particularly dirty hubcap on an old pickup truck that had just been brought in. He looked up, dunked his cloth into the soapy water beside him and went back to cleaning. “What?”

“…About earlier. Sometimes I don’t think before I run my mouth,” he expanded.

Tucker looked up, looked back to the hubcap, dunked his cloth and scrubbed at dried mud. He was quiet a few moments before. “It’s alright. I was pretty wound up this morning. Junior was upset and I had to leave him with Wash. He said he’d call if there’s a problem, but I keep worrying, y’know?”

Felix nodded, flopped down beside Tucker. The car hid him from both the customer and Kimball’s window. He tapped a cigarette in between his chipped teeth. “The mark?” he asked around it, lighting it up.

“Mark?” he said. Tucker nearly couldn’t believe his audacity as he lit up right there and then. He was supposed to be the one on thin ice and this asshole got smoke breaks whenever he felt like it? He just kept scrubbing.

Felix blew smoke, expanding. “Mark, target, setup, whatever you wanna call it. The guy you’re fucking for cash.”

Tucker stopped, avoiding Felix’s gaze and sighing. “I don’t know what he is anymore.”

Felix looked ready to jab a little more before he was interrupted.

Tucker’s phone began to ring from his pocket and Tucker was on his feet in seconds. Wrestling the cracked screen into his hand, he was met with a caller he was not expecting, nor wanting. He hung up.

“Who’s that?” Felix stuck his nose into Tucker’s business.

“No one important.” Just as Tucker spoke, his phone started buzzing again, the same caller ID lighting up the screen. He knew if he ignored it again he wouldn’t hear the end of it. It wasn’t like they didn’t have the hands, the pickup was the only thing on the lot.

“You mind finishing up? I’m gonna have to take this,” requested Tucker.

Felix sighed out in annoyance, grey smoke sliding through the gaps in his teeth. He held out his hand for the cloth, which Tucker slapped into his palm with a thankful smile.

Tucker announced, “See you guys in ten.”

Met with an array of grunts, he went off in the direction of the staff room. He let himself inside, standing by the window so he could look out of the shutters at the rest of his co-workers.

He looked down at his phone and exhaled deeply. It was still ringing. He picked up. “Hi, Mom.”

“ _It’s about time!”_ replied his mom. “ _I’ve had enough of you ignoring my calls.”_

“I wasn’t ignoring you, I’m at work,” said Tucker.

“ _I thought Mondays were your day off_ ,” said his mom.

“That was my last job, Mom,” said Tucker.

“ _Oh, right,”_ she sniffed. _“It’s hard to keep up with how many you go through.”_

Tucker didn’t grant that a response. “Why are you calling?”

“ _Why do you always make out I have ulterior motives?”_ she scolded. _“I’m only calling to ask how Junior is.”_

Tucker looked down at the floor and scuffed his shoe. “Junior’s fine.”

_“And? How’s his school? He eating any better? That scald healing up? You got him speaking yet?”_

“School’s fine, eating’s fine, scald’s fine and he’s getting better,” Tucker listed in succession.

His mom sounded irate at his dismissal, but didn’t vocalise it, instead responding, _“Is he still doing half days?”_

“No, he’s staying all day now. He’s at home today, though.” Tucker winced, why did he just say that?

_“Why?”_

“Um,” Tucker thought up a lie, “class is going on a field trip and I couldn’t afford it.”

_“You should have called me; I would have sent you the money.”_

_And held it over my head for the next year_ , Tucker thought bitterly. “He wouldn’t have liked it anyway,” excused Tucker.

 _“You need to stop codling him, it’ll do him no good,”_ she said. _“Who’ve you left him with?”_

Tucker’s grip on his phone tightened. He hated her meddling. She didn’t have to tell him about her parenting methods; he’d lived through it. “With Wash.”

_“Wash? Who’s that?”_

“New guy in our building I started talking to last week. He’s-”

“ _Lavernius!_ _You left him with a stranger?!”_

“He’s not a stranger, Mom, he’s my friend.”

_“And how long have you known this man? What’s his background? Has he been police checked? How stupid can you be?”_

Tucker rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “He’s fine, Mom. Wash isn’t like that.”

The woman muttered something about Tucker proving her point, which Tucker ignored, mainly so the he wouldn’t feel hurt.

There was a lull of silence.

_“You know, Lavernius, me and your dad were talking again yesterday…”_

Tucker closed his eyes. Never a good sign. “He’s not my dad.”

A sigh, she continued, _“We were talking and we thought maybe it would be a good idea for you to try and get your high school diploma. Maybe even go to college. It doesn’t sound like you’re handling things. Junior could come and live with us for a while.”_

“No,” replied Tucker, fast and hard. “I’m handling everything just fine.”

_“It’s just a little suggestion. The last thing we need is social services knocking on your door again. You need to think about Junior, he would probably do better in a more-”_

“I said no, Mom,” snapped Tucker.

Another louder, elongated sigh came through the receiver.

Tucker was tempted to hang up.

_“Just think about it, Lavernius.”_

“I don’t need to think about it because it’s still gonna be no.”

More silence.

She gave up. _“I have to go; I need to get to the store for some things. Text me when summer break starts and we’ll come down to visit you both during it.”_

Just the idea made Tucker nauseous. “…Sure.”

“ _Okay,”_ replied his mom. _“Bye.”_

“Bye.”

Tucker stared down at the broken screen a while. He shoved his phone back into his pocket.

“Well, she sounds like a massive bitch,” said Felix suddenly. Tucker turned around, startled. He hadn’t even heard the door open.

Felix put the end of another cigarette in between his lips.

“You don’t know the half of it, dude,” said Tucker.

-

A couple hours before twelve Junior emerged from his room, short lived tantrum (if it could even be called that) over. He’d changed out of his pyjamas into his dino-underpants, carrying a pair of elasticated pants and a shirt Tucker had bought him from _Goodwill_ out to Washington so he could help him dress.

Wash was sat on Tucker’s couch flipping through channels aimlessly, unable to stop a bubble of laughter when Junior appeared, half-naked, in front of the screen.

He gave Wash a look of confusion, which the man waved off. “It’s nothing,” he insisted, still smiling in amusement. “I thought your dad said you could get dressed yourself.”

Junior pushed his clothes in Wash’s lap. Clearly he was very insistent on having help today. Wash didn’t mind, the task self-explanatory as he helped Junior into his pants and put his shirt over his head.

“Wanna watch TV with me?” Wash offered, unsure what activities he’d usually be doing with Tucker. He liked colouring, right? And those plastic dinosaurs. Maybe he should offer doing that instead.

Wash was snapped out of that thought by Junior pushing a DVD into his hand he’d pulled out of the cupboard. A movie it was.

The man got up, spending five minutes trying to figure out how to open the disk tray before Junior had to get up to show him, inserting the disk and letting it slide shut.

Junior climbed up onto the sofa. He took the remote and changed it onto the DVD input, starting up the film. _Jurassic Park._ Again. He sat quietly beside Wash for a while, a hand finding its way to the back of the man’s head to play with his hair. It felt different to Tucker’s, softer.

Wash side glanced questioningly, but Junior’s eyes were squarely on the screen. He leaned against his arm. It was undeniably cute, even for someone as generally child-indifferent as Wash was. Junior was much more bearable than the average child, likeable too, even if the earlier morning upset had made Wash feel a little helpless.

Once they were done with that, Wash determined what Junior wanted for his lunch. He used the time in the kitchen as an excuse to start teaching him some basic signs of food and utensils. Junior appreciated this.

“What do you wanna do now?” asked Wash when they were both fed, scraping excess food into the trash, plates into the sink.

Junior took his hand and pulled him to the front door, stepping into his shoes and looking up expectantly.

Wash smiled and leaned down to lace Junior’s sneakers. He wasn’t sure where Junior wanted to go exactly but he’d oblige if it’d make him happy and distract him from the lack of Tucker’s presence.

“Where’re we going?” said Wash, signing along. He put on his own shoes, pulling his hoodie back over his head.

Junior didn’t tell. He ran back into the lounge to stuff his pockets with his dinosaurs in after thought, patient out in the hallway as he waited for Wash to lock up the front door. He took hold of the man’s hand again, guiding him to the stairwell.

“I haven’t brought much money so we can’t go far,” warned Wash.

Junior simply gripped around a few of Wash’s fingers, the warm, calloused feel reminding him of his Daddy. He took them downstairs, through the first floor and out the back door into the garden.

There were some remnants of the weekend’s party, but most of it was clear, the plant life looking pretty in the sunshine.

He caught sight of Sarge ahead of them, carrying a bag over his shoulder, the handle side of what Wash recognised to be a shotgun poking out a little. _Must have been shooting_ , Wash theorised. The sight of the weapon, not matter how mostly concealed, still made him a little anxious, holding Junior’s hand a little tighter.

“Washington,” greeted Sarge with a curt nod, doing the same for Junior. “Junior.”

“Morning,” Wash replied.

“Morning?” Sarge checked his watch. “You know how to tell the time? It’s quarter to two.”

Wash smiled in amusement.

Sarge made Junior feel a little nervous, but he still liked him. He gave a shy smile up at the man.

“What’re y’all doin’ out?” asked Sarge.

“I don’t know really,” admitted the agent, “I’m just kind of following Junior.”

Sarge grunted in acknowledgment, saying to Junior, “You better be lookin’ after him, son. Gotta respect our soldiers.”

Junior looked a little confused. Wash wasn’t a solider. He didn’t look like a solider at least, didn’t have the uniform or a gun like the ones on television did.

Wash found it in him to smile. “He is.”

Sarge grunted again. Silence dragged for a few, long, awkward seconds.

“I’ll tell Donut I saw you,” said Sarge, heading off.

“Yeah, see you later.” Wash was being gently yanked down the garden path. They went through the raised bedding, the trees, past the growing vegetables and flowers to a gate Wash hadn’t known was there.

Junior couldn’t reach and gestured for Wash to open it, which he did.

It led out onto the Main Street, a shortcut Washington had been completely oblivious of until just then. He looked about, recognising the area. “I didn’t know you could cut out to here,” he said, Junior’s fingers curling around his own again.

Junior knew exactly where he was going, taking Wash to his favourite shop of all: The Dollar Store.

Wash helped open the door for Junior, looking down to find the child grinning bright from ear to ear like they were entering a toy store. It warmed his heart. He never thought he could feel this way over a kid, but Junior was just too precious.

He let Junior wander, hands in his pockets as he kept a close eye on him. He gestured Wash over after a while of looking, moving up onto his tiptoes and pulling something out of the bargain bucket. He showed it to him proudly. _Face Painting for 2’s and Up,_ the front of the box read. It was $2.99.

“I don’t know, Junior,” began Wash unsurely, taking the box and putting it back. “You should ask your dad later.”

Junior took the kit back out of the bucket, pressing it back into Washington’s big hands. ‘ _Please_ ,’ Junior signed, extending the movement of the word, giving Wash his best puppy eyes.

Wash sighed. It was in the sale. What else was he gonna spend the $2.99 on?

“Are you _sure_ your dad is gonna be okay with this?” said Wash.

Junior smiled wide and nodded.

-

Junior tore open the face paint as soon as they got back home, running, still in his shoes, out into the living room to pour the contents onto the floor.

“Kid, wait up,” said Wash, but was ignored. He unlaced his shoes and pulled off his hoodie, following the child.

Junior was flipping through the little booklet that came with it, landing on a picture of a dragon template and jumping to his feet. He showed Wash, excited, pointing and smiling and jumping up and down.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed. “We’ll do the dragon, but first we need to take off your shoes.”

Wash tried his best, copying the picture in the book as accurately as he could. He applied paint to the left side of Junior’s face, careful, only applying the featheriest of touches out of a strong desire not to hurt him. Junior was patient, fiddling his plastic dinosaur between his fingers as he let Wash work.

“Done,” Wash set down the sponge, Junior bouncing up out of his seat. “Don’t get too excited, it isn’t that good,” he called as Junior ran for the bathroom.

Junior gave Wash a hug on his way back, signing, _‘Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you._ ’

Wash laughed. _‘You’re welcome, Junior.’_

Tucker arrived home, of course, once Junior had turned his attention to Wash’s face. He’d attempted to give his caretaker whiskers, but they ended up as wobbly black smudges that took up most of his cheeks. He was a little too adventurous with the nose too, pink slathered over the entire bridge of Washington’s nose, a little above his lip.

The front door slammed.

“Hey, Wa-” Tucker cut off. He promptly burst into laughter, having to pause to cover his mouth.

“Hi, Tucker, you have a good day?” Wash’s tone was dry.

Tucker was in hysterics, every time he looked at Wash’s face he broke down laughing again. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

Junior whined in complaint, grabbing his hands up at Tucker, leaning into his legs.

“Sorry, dude, I’m sorry,” Tucker got out, lifting his son up. “Did- did Junior do that? What the fuck even- is that- are you even supposed to be?”

Washington crossed his arms. “I’m a cat. Is it not obvious?”

Tucker went back to laughing, Wash’s fucked up face having turned around his entire day. Junior wasn’t sure what was so funny but was happy his Daddy and Wash were happy.

Wash stood up, not even bothering fighting his own smile. “You mind if I use your sink?”

“Go right ahead, dude,” said Tucker, wiping his eyes and exhaling.

“Thanks.”

He followed Wash to the bathroom, asking, “Where’d you get face paint?”

“Dollar Store. Junior showed me.” Wash began to splash water on his face, using a facecloth to try and get the colour off.

“I think it looks good,” teased Tucker, shifting Junior on his hip, giving him a bright smile. “You did a good job, bud.”

Junior grinned back, nuzzling into Tucker’s neck again, squeezing tight.

“It won’t come off,” complained Wash, staring into the mirror, scrubbing hard. “I’m just spreading it everywhere.”

“Bow-chicka-bow-wow,” said Tucker.

Wash looked back at him, looking unimpressed. He glanced at Junior. “Really?”

It was hard for Tucker to take Wash seriously when he was covered in paint. He laughed. “You know it, baby.”

Uncovering his freckles and pale skin from the messy smudges, Washington dried off with a hand towel draped over the edge of the bath. He felt a little reluctant to go, which was a new sensation, usually jumping at the chance of being home.

He noted Tucker telling Junior to go and clean up a little of the mess in his room, and Wash had a suspicion he was only doing it so they were alone together. He pulled on his hoodie anyway, toeing on his trainers.

“You’re going?” Wash swore he heard disappointment in Tucker’s voice.

“Yeah, gotta go feed the kids,” he replied, flushing. “I mean, cats.”

Tucker grinned in amusement but didn’t comment. “After you’ve done that would you like to come back for dinner?” Tucker stopped him in the hall, assertive. “It ain’t gonna be anything special. I was thinking, y’know, takeout or something.”

“Uh,” replied Wash pointlessly, “sure.” He didn’t miss the way Tucker’s face lit up as he tried to turn out the door again.

“Oh, and Wash?” Tucker took another step forward before Wash could escape him.

Tucker’s lips were against Washington’s before he had a chance at a response. Wash’s eyes widened before he relaxed into the kiss and let them slide closed. The thought of Maine threatened to creep into his subconscious. Wash was firm and pushed it away. He was allowed this.

Tucker had meant for it to be a quick kiss, but Wash showed no sign of breaking away, so he leaned forward and let it develop further than the first time. He brought his hands up to Wash’s face, brushing them against the faint prickle of facial hair. Tucker had only messed about with boys as his younger self, hadn’t anticipated how different Washington would be.

It was indescribable in a way you could only experience. Even the way he smelled was different; like a _man_. Maybe it was just Wash.

Wash let his hands drift to Tucker’s waist and- God, had they always been that broad? That firm and sure?

Tucker should had been embarrassed by his rush of thoughts; he wanted those hands around his dick, Wash’s mouth for good measure, Wash fucking him right there and then. Another part of Tucker wanted his grabby hands all over his chest, another wanted to feel Wash clench around his dick as he fucked into him from behind.

Wash pulled away. It was over too soon.

“We really need to stop doing this in your hallway,” teased Washington, voice low. He felt good.

The look in Wash’s eyes nearly had Tucker shivering. He forced out a breathless laugh instead.

Junior, who had peeked out around the door at the end of their embrace, disappeared back into his bedroom to tidy up like he’d been told. He could still hear his Daddy and Wash talking and laughing with each other outside and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s15 amirite?
> 
> Have a lovely day <3


	12. 07/24/20xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An intruder breaks into Tucker's place in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [rvlakia](http://rvlakia.tumblr.com/)

Tucker was happy to be home again after another mind-numbing day at work. He’d been so zombified he had almost taken off in the direction of the school before he’d remembered his son was at home with Wash.

Wash. Just his name had Tucker’s insides bunching up in ways he was unfamiliar, but in a lot of ways, was going with. Compared to the feelings his name stirred up, Wash’s smiling face was something else entirely. Tucker wasn’t comfortable naming it just yet.

Washington had been roped into playing with Junior and his band of dinosaurs on the floor, looking up and giving Tucker the smile he’d just been so caught up in thought over.

It had been Junior’s second day alone with Wash, and the morning had gone a lot smoother than the last, Tucker having been able to leave with a lot less tears. Tucker looked about, the place looking a bit cleaner than he’d left it. He guessed Washington was to thank for that.

“Hey,” said Wash, distracting Junior from their game.

Junior’s head whipped back in the direction Wash spoke, jumping up and running to Tucker. He was silent today, but no less cuddly, throwing his arms around Tucker’s legs.

“Hey.” Tucker gave a nod, telling himself to be causal. He leaned down to haul Junior up, grunting at the exertion. Secured on his hip, Tucker gave his son’s forehead some kisses. “And hello to you too, little man.”

“He’s been a little more reserved today,” shared Wash, fiddling with a plastic Lego man Junior had found down the back of the sofa earlier than afternoon.

Tucker nodded again, a few more times. “You just get like that some days, don’t you?” he directed at Junior, rubbing at his back, familiar. He dropped down onto his old couch, holding back a sigh. “Apart from that he been good?” His gaze fell back to Wash.

Wash gave a weary smile again, head bobbing in affirmation. “Good day at work?” he asked next like some God damn house wife.

Tucker gave a look as the word ‘work’ was mentioned. “Fuck, no,” he moaned.

Washington smirked. He gave him room to speak.

Patting at Junior’s back, Tucker held him securely and he collapsed back onto his sofa to lay down. “I’m pretty sure at this point I _dream_ washing cars, all I can see are suds whenever I close my eyes.” He closed his eyes and grimaced to make his point.

Wash quirked a wider smile, re-shifting on the floor so he could get up.

“I’ll get the door,” said Tucker, moving to sit up as well.

“No, it’s okay, Tucker,” reassured Wash, placing a hand onto Tucker’s shoulder. “You look tired.”

“Thanks, man.” Tucker placed a hand over the one on his shoulder, rubbing a thumb along Wash’s knuckles, holding his gaze. He wanted to ask him to stay, desperately so, but he was already too attached and this needed to stop.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Washington said after a pause, pulling away his hand and signing Junior his own personal goodbye. The child smiled at this and gave his friend a wave.

“See ya, Wash.” Tucker listened as Wash put on his coat and his shoes, calling a final goodbye before he was out the door.

Tucker almost felt disappointed they hadn’t kissed.

He pondered on his thoughts and cuddled Junior close, Junior content to lay with him. Junior gripped Tucker’s dreads, texture soothing just like his dad’s smell and body heat.

“What you want for dinner?” Tucker asked eventually, moving Junior off his stomach and back down onto the floor with a groan. He’d gotten heavier again.

Junior fumbled out some signs, a few Tucker didn’t recognise. Wash must have been teaching him during the day.

“I don’t understand,” said Tucker in honesty.

Junior huffed, grabbing his dad’s hand and pulling him up off the couch, through into kitchen. He pulled a chair over to the counter, climbing up and opening a cupboard. He pulled out a box of ready-made macaroni and cheese and pushed it into Tucker’s hands.

He repeated the sign, pointed to the box. _‘Mac and cheese.’_

Tucker stuck the box under his arm and repeated the sign with his own hands. “Mac and cheese?” he said in time with the movement.

Junior nodded.

“Sure, little dude.” Tucker got to work, hoping this lot tasted better than the last brand he’d bought that had stunk the whole apartment out like feet.

Junior watched Tucker, growing bored once he had everything on the hob. He retrieved his brontosaurus, running the plastic dinosaur familiarly over different surfaces of the kitchen. Junior walked in a pattern. He carried the little piece of plastic to the sink (watering hole), the kitchen counter (mountains), table (grasslands) and back again.

He repeated the journey over and over, content enough. By the time he’d finished the routine, Tucker was serving their meals up.

Thankfully, this meal smelled more like cheese than sweaty odour. It tasted okay too, the two sitting together in a comfortable silence Tucker was well adjusted to. He wiped Junior’s chin within a napkin when he got cheese sauce down it every so often.

Junior was obviously tired, leaving the table when he was finished to go and brush his teeth in the bathroom.

“J, where you going?” Tucker asked as he wandered off. He sighed when he didn’t get his answer, scooping a couple more forkfuls of macaroni into his mouth. He picked up his plate and followed Junior, relaxing when he saw he was just getting ready for bed.

Junior went to his bedroom next, picking out the pyjamas he wanted to wear, holding them out to his dad. Tucker ate through some more of his meal and set it down on Junior’s dresser.

He knew he should really be encouraging Junior to dress himself, but Tucker had real trouble telling Junior no to things that comforted him. He helped him out of his clothes, stuffing them into the overflowing wash basket in the corner. Junior stepped into his pyjama pants, steadying on Tucker’s leg, Tucker gently pulling the elastic up around his tummy, Junior being aided into his pyjama top next.

Junior picked out a book for Tucker to read, which Tucker did, petting his heavy curls soothingly as he read through the pages for him. Junior followed along with half-lidded eyes. He tugged Tucker’s hand.

Tucker understood what Junior wanted, looking back at his half-finished pasta. “How about we sleep in Daddy’s bed? It’s a lot bigger, it’ll fit us both a lot easier too.”

Junior was already shaking his head halfway through Tucker’s offer, shifting aside to make room for his father to join him.

He preferred his room to Tucker’s: he liked the UV splattered ceiling, his stuffed toys, the feel and smell of his covers. As much as Junior liked it, he didn’t like to be alone in the dark, and falling asleep without Tucker nearby was an impossibility.

Tucker didn’t hold back his audible exhale, eyeing Junior’s tiny bed frame before dragging his feet over. He really needed to seriously consider either investing in an airbed or relocating his bed into Junior’s room. His body ached enough from work as it was, he didn’t need the extra physical strain of laying awkwardly up against Junior’s headboard.

Tucker pulled the covers over them both as he got Junior settled. The headboard predictably dug into his shoulder blade, whilst the end cut hard into the back of his knees. Junior looked contented, at least, taking a fistful of Tucker’s dreads.

Junior gave a sleepy smile.

“Night, little man. I love you.” Tucker kissed his temple.

Junior zoned out fast, much to Tucker’s relief, but he still had to hold back groans of intense discomfort as he wriggled out from underneath his son. He held his breath and hoped with all his might Junior remained asleep so he could slip away.

The universe decided to be kind to him that evening, Junior remaining snoozing, curling up against his mattress. Once escaped, Tucker half-punched the air in victory before pulling the covers back over him.

He took his plate off the drawers and snuck out, leaving the door open a crack behind him.

Finally. Some well-earned Tucker time. He went back to the kitchen to finish his dinner, taking down the calendar from the fridge and opening his bank account on his phone to try and work out how much he was going to be able to scrap together to pay Sarge at the end of the month. It was horrible how easily the temptation to go through with the bet plagued him as he looked over the mess in front of him.

After thoroughly stressing himself out over the time constraints and lack of funds, he put the leftovers away in the fridge. He needed alcohol, immediately, and allowed himself the luxury of a beer as he sat down to watch television for a couple of hours.

He checked his Facebook to see if Wash was online. No such luck. After wallowing in mild disappointment, he scrolled through Twitter idly instead, looking at what everyone had been up to. Nothing of importance caught his attention.

Tucker sighed and looked up at his stained ceiling once his attention for both his phone and reality TV lapsed. His beer bottle was empty and his back still ached. He decided a bath was the next best course of action.

He sat on the toilet seat, flicking on the taps to start filling up the tub with water. He eyed Junior’s _A-hoy Bubble Bath,_ tipping a generous amount of the liquid into the hot water, watching it froth up, trying to keep his eyes open.

Tucker was in the bath and half asleep when he heard someone enter his apartment. His eyes snapped open and his body tensed, the floorboards by the entrance creaking under whoever’s foot was intruding inside. Who the fuck was inside their apartment at eleven PM at night?

His first thought was of Junior, scrambling out of the water. He didn’t bother drying down, wrestling on his discarded boxers and grabbing their toothbrush holder as a makeshift sort of weapon. He went out into the hall, leaving a trail of water droplets behind him, bubbles still stuck to his chest.

The figure paused in the darkness when they saw Tucker, the light from the bathroom not enough to give a good look of their outline.

Tucker’s heart was beating fast in his chest, eyes wild. He glanced to Junior’s bedroom door and back again, Junior’s bedroom door and back again, creating a plan in his head: he’d tell them to leave, and if they didn’t then he’d just have to hit them over the head with the holder and make a sprint for Junior’s room. The fire escape was outside Junior’s window, so they could use that, climb to another apartment for help.

The intruder stepped forward, and Tucker stepped back. He tightened his grip on the plastic holder in his hand, water still trickling down his legs. (At least, he hoped it was water.)

They laughed. _She_ laughed. “You look like you saw the Huaka’ipo!”

Tucker’s eyes widened.

“Hey, Tucker,” she continued.

Tucker let his arm go lax, the tension draining from his body so fast he almost felt faint. “Kai,” he blabbered out in relief.

She laughed again and walked a few more steps, hand feeling the wall for the hallway’s light switch. She flipped it on when she found what she was looking for.

“What’s this?” she teased, taking Tucker’s weapon from him. “A plastic beaker?”

Tucker crossed his arms in defence, arguing, “It wasn’t like I had many options.”

Kai petted his bare arm a few times affectionately, dropping the cup onto the ground in disconcern.

Sister looked visibly older than the last time Tucker had seen her, but no less pretty; she still had her brown eyes, wild hair, off-set smile that had never seen a pair of braces in its life. The only stark difference was a few more tattoos Tucker didn’t recognise.

“Come here,” encouraged Kai, opening her arms to her ex-boyfriend.

Tucker stepped forward, working on autopilot, still in shock. She pulled him down into a tight hug, and it was then that Tucker could smell the liquor on her body.

“I missed you,” said Sister, resting her cheek against Tucker’s naked chest. She hummed to herself, trying to sway them.

She pulled away; Tucker noticed her pupils were blown wide too. “We missed you, too,” he replied, it feeling nice to have her back in his arms, nostalgic.

Kai’s mouth found Tucker’s, and Tucker admittedly kissed her back for a few beats before he realised what was happening. He pulled back, so Kai kissed his jaw instead, murmuring something about him being broader than she remembered, hands smoothing over his shoulders.

“What are you-” Tucker was cut off by a sudden touch to his dick, her hand cupping him through his boxers. He flashed his own hand down to catch her wrist. “Stop.”

She pulled away the hand and pouted up at him through half-lidded eyes, advances ceased for the time being.

“What are you doing here, Kai?” Tucker asked his originally attempted question.

“I just told you, I miss you,” replied Sister. She took Tucker’s hands, swinging them together. “I’m _hungry_ , do you have any food?”

“It sounds like you should have gone to Grif, not me,” joked Tucker, the way their fingers laced together a bittersweet comfort.

She giggled, gifting Tucker a few more chaste kisses. “You wanna go to a carnival?”

“What?”

“There’s a carnival going on a couple of miles away, I went past it on the bus so I googled it.” She retrieved her phone from her back pocket, flicking open her search history to show Tucker. “Can you drive yet? If we’re lucky there’ll be some super-hot guys there we can hit on.”

Tucker breathed a laugh, smirking. He gave her phone back. “Junior’s in bed.”

Her eyes widened like she hadn’t even considered him, which was concerning to Tucker. “We should all go!” was her solution, pushing past Tucker to go to Junior’s room.

Tucker stopped her. “That’s a bad idea.”

“Dude, you’re being a party-pooper.” Sister defiantly attempted to push past him, grinning like it was a joke.

“Kai, stop.”

“Are you serious? I just want us to have fun and you’re acting like a boring jackass!” Sister put her hands on her hips, her teasing tone strained.

“Junior is five years old, we are not taking him to an out-of-town carnival in the middle of the night.”

“Why not? I lived on with carnival when I was younger than that.”

“Junior wouldn’t like it.”

“Sounds to me like you’re just making excuses because _you_ don’t want to go.”

“This has nothing to do with me, dude. He doesn’t like crowds, or loud noises, or new places or people- he’d have a meltdown, Kai. How- how were you even planning on paying for all this in the first place?”

“…I thought you’d have the money for it,” admitted Sister.

This angered Tucker. “Oh, now that’s a fucking joke isn’t it? Like you didn’t take enough from us already?”

“Oh my God. What is your fucking deal?”

“My fucking deal is that you left us, Kai. You took everything! _Everything!_ ” Tucker exploded. “That money was supposed to get us a new place and you just fucking took it.”

“Shut the fuck up, it was my money, too! I left you enough.”

“It was Junior’s birthday. We were supposed to be a family.”

“Yeah, well, I never wanted a fucking family! You made me, asshole!”

“I didn’t make you do anything.”

“Yes, you did! _I_ wanted to do something with my life.”

“Looks like you’re doing just that, huh?” Tucker bit back sarcastically.

Sister scoffed. “Are you serious? _You_ of all people are trying to give me this lecture. You’re worse than me.”

“Before we had Junior!”

“I never wanted Junior!”

Tucker was flabbergasted.

They stared at one another, both breathing hard.

There was a stalemate.

“Then why are you even fucking here?” he eventually managed, trying not to sound too bitter.

The door to Junior’s bedroom moved, and the two stopped, their heads jerking in the direction of the movement. Junior’s face appeared, the screaming match having woken him up. He rubbed his eye, little face looking from his Daddy to the unidentifiable woman. He retracted back into his room a little at the sight of a stranger, confused.

The argument fizzled out completely.

“Sorry, little dude, did we wake you up?” Tucker had calmed.

Junior swallowed, nodding, visibly nervous.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, come here.” Tucker offered his arms, scooping Junior up when he stepped forward.

Junior had been scared enough already when he’d woken to an empty bed, but the screaming had been frightening. He rested his head on his dad’s shoulder.

The lady he didn’t recognise was staring at him, but his Daddy’s reassuring pets kept him calm.

“…Junior?” The lady said his name like she knew him, and that made him uncomfortable.

She reached out a hand to try and touch his face, which Junior disliked, turning his head away from her so she couldn’t. He pressed it out of sight into Tucker’s neck.

Tucker turned, and was treated to Sister’s dejected gaze. “He doesn’t recognise me,” she said.

Tucker stared sadly. He loved Kai, of course he did, she was the mother of his child, someone he thought had been his soulmate, but he couldn’t allow her to just walk back into their life whenever she felt like it. Tucker couldn’t care less to have the bullshit pulled on him, but Junior? Junior deserved better than that.

He knew how it felt to have an unreliable, self-centred parent, he didn’t wish it on anyone, especially not his own son.

“You can stay the night, but that’s it,” Tucker didn’t recognise his own voice. “If you’re serious about seeing our son _,_ then we can talk about it tomorrow when you’re not off your face on whatever it is you’re into at the moment.”

Kai felt like she was being spoken to by a stranger; like she’d been cut off from Lavernius’ affection.

“This is what I get for coming home?” she said bitterly.

“I don’t- I don’t even know what you expected, Kai,” replied Tucker. “You can’t leave for four years and expect everything between us to be the same. It wasn’t just my heart, dude, you broke everyone’s. Grif, Simmons, Caboose, Donut- fuck, Kai, even Sarge! Junior wouldn’t stop crying for weeks. I can’t let you do that to him. Not again. It’s not fair.”

Tears filled Kai’s eyes. “Lavernius, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean- I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Save it. Please. Just take the couch, I gotta sort out Junior.” Tucker retreated and shut Junior’s bedroom door behind him before too much emotion entered his voice.

He heard her begin to cry on the other side.

Afraid he would cry too, Tucker stayed hidden away in Junior’s room until dawn. The water in the bathtub turned cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~anyone interested in betaing? hmu~~

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](http://screamingpies.tumblr.com/) if you wanna be friends  
>  (NSFW & OCCASIONAL GORE WARNING)


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